


No Paradise

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [15]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-10-30 02:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: A story that only works in the revised C&C series.Romulan culture in canon is likely different. I don't care. This series predates the reboot movies, and I'm already in an alternate universe. So I looked up names and terms, looked up the culture, but events after the Dominion War, I'm not even looking.Original C&C series I did not write this story at all. I wasn't able to conceptualize it. But I think it had the potential to be a game-changer for the characters, and it should be written. It will be different than the old version of Dancing Lessons would indicate, and so that story will also have to change...





	1. Chapter 1

_Mon chemin_  
_Qui sait_  
_ou serait_  
_mon chemin_  
_sinon ici?_  
  
_chemin de fer_  
_chemin de l'air_  
_chemin de lumière_  
_parfois d'éclairs_  
_de nuit, de jour_  
_toujours ces carrefours_  
_putain de détours_  
_encore je cours_  
_je cours toujours._  
  
_Qui sait_  
_ou serait_  
_mon chemin_  
_sinon ici?_

 _de jour, de nuit_  
_le chemin fleuri_  
_fleurs d'esprit_  
_fleurs de folie_  
_on pleure, on rit_  
  
_on pleure, on rit_  
_le chaos s'élargit_  
_il y a peu d'abri_  
_c'est pas le paradis_  
_ce chemin de ma vie_  
  
_mais qui sait_  
_ou serait_  
_mon chemin_  
_sinon ici?_

 

who knows  
where my  
road would be,  
if not here  
  
iron road  
road of earth  
road of the air  
road of light  
sometimes lightning  
  
by night by day  
always these crossroads  
fucking detours  
still I'm running  
always running  
  
who knows  
where my  
road would be,  
if not here

who knows  
where my  
road would be,  
if not here  
  
by day by night  
the road blooms  
flowers of spirit  
flowers of madness  
you cry, you laugh  
  
you cry. you laugh  
chaos expands  
not much shelter...  
it's no paradise  
this road of my life  
  
who knows  
where my  
road would be,  
if not here

Bruce Cockburn, Mon Chemin

 

* * *

 

The last time Jean-Luc had gone to Romulus, he'd been on a cloaked Klingon warbird. There had been no preparation, no real intent other than finding Spock -- they had left him on Romulus to continue the work he had started.

The alterations this time were not superficial; Dr. Mengis had used cosmetic surgery to alter them, in such manner that their ears would not come off accidentally and the ridges on their foreheads felt real to the touch. The details of his cover identity were very specific, with a history, a lineage, and a name.  Healed scars that mimicked a slash from a bat'leth split the right cheek and a little of the right brow. He walked with a slight limp. And he had a very pretty Romulan companion.

They were walking down the road toward the capital city of Romulus. Getting to Romulan space had involved an interesting, roundabout method of being dropped off by the _Yorktown_ on a colony near the Neutral Zone, being picked up and paying in latinum for passage across the zone with a Romulan trader who had asked no questions and dropped them on a poor colony, where it took two days to find a freighter captain who would let them sit in a room on the way to Romulus. That had taken another two days, and now they were making their way from the tiny ore processing facility where the freighter had dropped its cargo.

Deanna had worn a cloak for any leg of the trip where they were seen in public, wrapped around her head and body, concealing all but a glimpse of her face. Now that they were in the country she had thrown off the hood and walked with her head high. Her hair was black, but not cut in the short utilitarian way of Romulan soldiers. Her cover was a young woman accompanied by an older man whose role in her life was not set; she called him _tetya_ , an ambiguous term of endearment, and they could spin their relationship in any way might be advantageous at the moment. He could be her husband, her brother, or her father, depending upon who they were addressing. Once in the capital he would be her trusted bodyguard, and she would be a daughter of a wealthy house -- not an unfamiliar role to her.

They could see the buildings on the horizon. Soon they would be in the suburbs. But for now, they were still surrounded by trees, fields, and occasionally a herd of grazing animals.

"Uncomfortable boots," he commented as they walked, the graveled road crunching with every step they took.

Deanna held the wrap tightly around her and kept her focus on walking. "Mine, too."

"Not Casperia yet. But we'll get there."

She laughed, and glanced at him. "It's hard to look at you. I'm not sure what's more disturbing, the scars or the forehead."

"Command must be predicting some dire circumstances, that so much effort is being expended on this mission," he murmured. He had a wrap similar to hers but only around the torso; the trousers were rough black fabric and the shirt a dusty green.

"I hope that the government here can change," she said, looking up at the sky. It was blue, similar to Earth's sky. With fewer shuttles -- the general impression they were getting was of a society with less equality than Federation worlds. The lower classes had limited or no access to technology.

"It would have been so much easier to beam down from a cloaked ship."

"Tom said this kind of work requires more patience than that, remember. Having witnesses to our arrival on foot to the house is better. Although it would have been nice to have "

"Then we will have patience. Much easier to be here than waiting on the ship for you," Jean-Luc said.

"I hope we can find Narviat quickly. It would be nice not to sleep under a bush."

"Ael t'Aimne will not sleep under a bush," he proclaimed. It was his attempt at comedy -- they had already been uncomfortable in ridiculous places, on their journey so far. The tiny room on the freighter had had not even a mattress on the slab the captain had called a bed.

"Thank you, Erket," she replied in Romulan, amused.

"You are welcome."

They walked on in silence for a while, and after an hour they were passing houses with gardens. Then houses without yards, and then multi-story buildings. The streets in the capital were paved and more populated than they had seen before. People were not obvious about paying attention to them, but Deanna started to walk slightly ahead of him, and led the way through the streets to a tall set of gates.  She pointed at the panel and Jean-Luc stepped up to bounce his fist on it.

"Ael t'Aimne has come," he said in Romulan sternly. 

A few long moments passed. The gate, which bore the crest of the house Aimne -- a large stylized bird of prey taking flight -- slid slowly back. Deanna strolled up the long walk to the front door of a large home. The lawns were manicured and the fruit trees neatly shaped. Clearly the home of someone who could afford employees. As they approached, the door opened.

A tall, older man stepped out, a happy smile in place. "Ael. Come, _tetya_ , give your uncle a kiss."

Deanna smiled as she greeted the Romulan she'd never seen before with a kiss on the cheek. Jean-Luc followed her inside without a word, and Narviat took them through the house to the back yard, to a patio attached to the house surrounded by lattices covered with vines blooming in all colors. A young man followed them part of the way until Narviat ordered him to fetch her a drink.

"You're a little earlier than I expected," he said in Standard. "Did you have any difficulties?"

"No. What's next?" Deanna asked. She took off the wrap, dropping it on the back of a chair, revealing the dress she'd been wearing -- a silver sheath, form-fitting, with two translucent layers floating over it. The ankle-length boots were soft-soled and form fitting as well. She reached up and unfastened the sleeve she'd used to cover the long braids. Her costume included extensions in her hair, which was now down to her waist, in long braids threaded with silver chains. Unhooking the clip on the back of her head let them drop down her back.

Narviat watched appreciatively, nodding. "You were well prepared. Are there any questions, before we begin our designated roles?"

"Yes," Jean-Luc said, stepped up to Deanna. "Are you planning to follow through with assisting us and defending us if necessary, if anything goes wrong?"

Narviat stared at him with affronted eyes. "I understand that Romulans have a reputation in the Federation, however, I assure you that my commitment to the Empire demands that I operate from principle rather than patriotism," he replied in Romulan. "I wish to see the Empire become the strong, honorable and principled civilization that it once was. Not this pale shadow it has become. The war turned too many of us into animals. I was assured that you are principled people yourselves?"

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc -- it still gave him a jolt to see her eyes, now brown and not Betazoid black, and her face with the smaller pointed nose and the smaller chin. Care had been taken to make her look as little like herself as possible. She spoke in Romulan as well, fluently. "We are. The Federation and Starfleet have particular concerns about maintaining the peace in the quadrant. The Federation are not the only ones rebuilding after the Dominion War ended, and hope that the rest of the quadrant will also see this as an opportunity to come together, rather than continue to be wary of each other. We are not interested in continuing to hate, to maintain old grudges -- I was informed that this mission would help us find a way to peace with the Empire."

"And I think that is a wise thing to pursue," Narviat said with a warm smile. "I intend to do my best to see that this effort succeeds, because I believe it will benefit the Empire. To that end I will provide you with information you request, if I have it, and I have also arranged for a small vessel so that you are able to make your exit when the time comes."

"Thank you," Deanna said warmly. She gave Jean-Luc a nod, indicating all was well and she sensed no artifice in him. "Do you have children, Subcommander Narviat?"

"I have three. They are of a similar mindset." Narviat turned at the sound of the door, and the young man arrived with a tray with two drinks. Of course, he took note of Jean-Luc's plain clothes and assumed that the servant would not be given the same consideration. "Tet, you will inform the household that my niece is to be obeyed as you would me. Is her room ready?"

"Yes, sir," Tet replied with a bow. He left the drinks on the table and went back inside.

Narviat gestured at Jean-Luc. "You will want to stay with her? I have given her a suite of rooms."

"Thank you," he replied. They had agreed not to give away any personal information that wasn't necessary. He moved to stand behind the chair after Deanna sat in it, and stood there with his hands behind his back.

"Erket is quite vigilant," Deanna said, picking up the glass she was offered. "We have three days left?" The event that made the mission possible, a two-day celebration of the founding of the Romulan Empire centuries ago, would start then.

"Yes. Ample time to rest after your long trip here. We should also prepare you for the party -- my niece will have the finest apparel, I will have one of the local clothiers bring some of their gowns for you to choose from. My wife's hairdresser will also be on hand to help you prepare for the evening meal at the palace."

"This is a beautiful home," Deanna said, looking up at the huge red, yellow and orange trumpet flowers hanging from the vines around them. "I love this garden. It reminds me of my mother's garden."

Narviat chuckled. "Do they have _kesl'li_ on Earth?"

"Not at all. But I have seen similar vines there, as well as on so many other worlds. I love gardens."

"How many worlds have you seen?"

Deanna moved her shoulder in a way that probably seemed like the she wanted to stretch muscles, but told Jean-Luc that she was relaxing her guard a little. "I don't have a count -- more than I have kept track of, over the years."

"I wish that our fleet had been more focused on exploration," Narviat said, sounding genuinely regretful. "When I had a ship, I sometimes wondered what it would be like. Instead of patrols and attacks, to see other worlds and meet other people."

"Perhaps you will be able to come visit other worlds -- in the Federation any citizen can travel to any member world. I would invite you to my mother's home, if we do manage peace between the Empire and the Federation."

Jean-Luc chuckled at that. "He could bring five hundred of his closest friends."

"My mother loves parties," Deanna said.

"I see you know quite a lot about each other," Narviat said, his right eyebrow twitching upward. "You have worked together before?"

"We have, for a long time," Deanna said. "Erket and I work very well together."

The door opened again, and Narviat turned his head -- he stood up as a willowy woman approached. "Tarel, our guests. This is Ael, and her companion Erket."

"Welcome to our home," Tarel said. She wore a long shimmering teal tunic over tight black pants, and her hair was shoulder length, caught back in a band off her slender pointed ears.

Deanna rose to step away from the table but hesitated, facing the lady of the house.

Tarel smiled. "I know you are not my niece, Ael. My husband and I are in agreement that helping you obtain information that will facilitate peace between the Empire and the Federation is in the best interests of our people. Because our own leadership are quite stubborn, in their failure to listen to the people or seeing to their needs."

"The Dominion War was humbling," Narviat said. "I retired when I returned -- I spent months in a Dominion detention center. I was fortunate to get back alive. I decided that rather than continue in the military I wanted to be alive to see my grandchildren." His voice became rough, talking about it. Tarel touched his arm, clearly concerned.

"There has been a movement on Romulus, for the past decade," Tarel said, turning back to them. "More and more there has been a desire for peace. For growth. There has always been a veneration of the military that has been oppressive, to many -- if you do not say the right things in the presence of others, your patriotism is suspect. It could be assumed that you are disloyal to the Empire if you do not speak only praise, especially among those who have been career military."

"Has that changed, then?" Jean-Luc asked, thinking about Spock.

"Not enough," Narviat said. "But it may change soon -- Proconsul Kalad and some of the younger members of the senate are starting to openly question the traditional stance of the Empire. Suggesting that we may yet see a change, in the government."

"Earth has a history of such revolutions. Too many of them were bloody," Jean-Luc said, as the list played out in memory. The Bell Riots and too many others - the fight for women's rights, the abolishing of slavery, apartheid, so many ways that humans had put down other humans for so many wrong-headed reasons.

"I hope that your government does not make the citizens pay for the freedom to speak their truth with violence," Deanna said sadly.

Tarel exchanged an intense look with her husband, then smiled at Deanna. "I would like that as well. May we sit and talk more of this?"

"I would like to bathe and change, if you don't mind," Deanna said. "If we could prevail upon you for clothing? We walked here from Tivatti after riding all the way to Romulus in a freighter, and I must apologize for -- "

"Of course," Tarel said. She turned toward the house. "Follow me. I will show you to your rooms, and when you return we will have the midday meal here in the garden, ready and waiting for you."

She showed them upstairs and into the suite, which was modern and clean, with large open rooms and plush furnishings in earth tones. There was a large painting of a mountain scene on the wall over the bed. Clothing had been laid out on the bed for them already. Tarel excused herself and left them to it.

Jean-Luc surveyed the room with the tricorder he had been carrying inside a concealed pocket of his jacket, feeling down the backs of the frame of the painting with his fingers for good measure, while Deanna went in the bathroom to wash. She returned in a dark red tunic very similar to Tarel's over dark gray pants. "The bathroom is nearly the same as any I've been in. Everything okay?"

"From what I can tell." He pointed wordlessly at the table and chairs, the door that opened onto a balcony, the end tables, and went into the bathroom himself. He found her seated on the edge of the bed when he was clean and in the clean drab clothing provided.

"If there's a listening device I don't know where it would be. I checked as thoroughly as Tom taught us to do."

"What do you think of our hosts?" he asked.

"I think they are wonderful people," Deanna said. "But the servants."

"We have a few days at least. You look tired."

"Perhaps a short nap?"

He couldn't join her, however. Being on Romulus again set him on edge. He went to the balcony and stood looking out, wondering.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episodes referenced: TNG - Face of the Enemy, Drumhead, Unification, Yesterday's Enterprise
> 
> For some reason I keep misspelling the names of my Romulans. So if there is a typo I will catch it on the re-read.

Deanna woke to the sound of a strange bird call. She lay there in bed for a moment making sense of it, then realized they had left the window open slightly in the room -- it had been a very warm night, and the days were warmer. Sitting up, she recognized that the sun was up, and the bright blue curtain blowing slightly in the wind. Then she recognized that there was also a soft tapping on the door. Swinging her legs out from under the covers, she went barefooted on the plush carpeting to the door.

When she opened it, the house man Tet stood there wide-eyed, and she realized that she had not put anything on. Rather than hide behind the door, she did as Ael would do -- stood there brazenly naked, gazing at the man as if he'd just interrupted something important.

"I am to inform you that the midday meal will be served in the dining room in half an hour," he said, then bowed, his eyes fixed on some point above her right shoulder as he turned and strode off.

Deanna started to close the door, but a gust from the open window took it from her and slammed it. When she came back to the bed, the grizzled and scarred Romulan in the bed groaned, rolled over, reached up to his forehead and flinched when his fingers found the ridges there.

"We slept late. It's time for lunch," she said in Standard. In a low voice -- the window was open, and one never knew.

"Did you just flash the butler?"

Deanna threw herself at him, leading to a scuffle in the covers. She caught him, as he backed away from her and she pounced, and while she leaned in to kiss him noticed his eyes were closed.

"You can't even look at me any more," she murmured.

"It's hard to, you don't look like yourself." But he kissed her anyway, and then she rolled away again.

"We need to get up. I want to talk to Tarel. She promised we would go to the market."

They could bathe or shower without damaging their altered appearances, and she liked that the suite they'd been given had a shower big enough for both of them. She didn't like that the alterations for their aliases were so thorough. Jean-Luc had scars on his face and his back, and his skin was not his usual -- Romulans had green blood as did Vulcans, and so flesh tone for their mission had to be less pink and more greenish. She washed his back for him and they inspected each other's bodies for any damage to the prosthetics that might give them away.

"I wish we could be more forthcoming," he said, carefully drying himself with a towel. "I wanted to ask about Spock."

"He may yet come up in conversation. Especially if we go out, and Tarel introduces me around to people she knows."

Last night Tarel had provided both of them with clothing for the week, including undergarments. The usual casual dress of women on Romulus appeared to be the tight pants and tunic, though there were many variants from fitted tunic to a loose long one more like a dress. Deanna chose one of the dark green ones, as it was a rich and shining fabric, also form-fitting, and paired it with gold leggings. Some eye makeup had also been provided, and she smoothed it on with her fingertips then shook out her long braids to re-organize them, gathering up the mass and fastening it at the back of her head.

"Complex hair is difficult, it seems," Jean-Luc said from where he stood in the door of the bathroom.

"You have no idea. Tonight when Tarel's hairdresser unbraids it all, you will see."

His outfits were all variations of a jacket, a shirt and slacks, all in drab colors, almost like a uniform. He brushed his hair awkwardly -- he kept worrying that it would come out prematurely if he pulled too hard, despite Mengis' reassurances that they would be able to treat the hair as their own.

When they finally left the room, she strode ahead with her chin high and her shoulders back, as if she owned the house. A tour yesterday helped her be confident in making her way to the dining room Tet had mentioned -- this was the home of generations of Narviat's family, and almost a palace, so the dining hall was formal, with tall doors and a large table that would seat more than a dozen people. There were opulent decorations on the walls, tapestries that Narviat had claimed were hundreds of years old, some large pots and statuary on pedestals that were older -- Jean-Luc had been aching to ask, but refrained, keeping his persona intact.

Today the table was set, and there were people seated and waiting for them. Deanna hesitated in the door, stared at the new guests, and tried not to show the rising anxiety she felt.

"Ael," Narviat called out from the head of the table at the far end. "Come, meet our guest." He gestured to the right, at Tarel and the empty seat beside her. Time to put their skills at speaking Romulan to the test.

To conceal her anxiety, Deanna didn't look directly at the guest, and smiled the same smile she had learned as the child of Lwaxana Troi, who had brought home endless "friends" every week for most of her childhood. "Uncle," she said fondly, gliding to the right and taking the chair as Tet pulled it out for her. "Thank you, Tet," she said without a glance. The Aimne were polite to their employees -- from their deference she had assumed them to be servants, but Tarel had corrected that assumption.

"This is Commander Sela," Narviat said, smiling at the blond woman seated at his right hand. Sela appraised her, giving her own version of the polite smile of tolerance. "Commander, my niece, Ael. Here from Kashi'val, for the upcoming celebration. She is considering a longer stay to attend the Imperial War College."

"What a pleasure to meet you," Sela said. Her blue eyes flicked up -- Deanna could tell that Jean-Luc had taken up his usual position, hovering behind her. "And who is this?"

"Erket accompanied me at my father's order," Deanna said. "Father worries about me."

"Did he get his scars because your father is correct to worry?" Sela sounded too much like Tasha, which was profoundly unsettling.

Deanna glanced up at Erket -- his face could have been made of stone. He was, she could tell, struggling with this situation as well. "The scars he bears are from hand-to-hand battle with Klingons," she said, turning back to Sela. "He's been with us as part of security since his retirement from the military. A mostly boring sort of work, following my mother or I -- but he takes it very seriously."

"Only mostly boring," Tarel said with a chuckle. "Stevet told us about that incident you were caught up in."

"Men can be so predictable," Deanna said with a canny smile. This was one of the things they had prepared for, by coming up with a string of anecdotes that would support Ael as a member of the family who would be welcome to stay for an extended time. If questioned further she could tell a tale of being accosted by an uncouth man and Erket's swift intervention.

"Erket does well if he's keeping up with you," Narviat commented, watching Tet pour beverages for them all at the sideboard. The infamous Romulan ale was but one of many kinds of potent drink on Romulus. The red liquid Tet placed before each of them in tall flutes was what they had had last night, and it was part of the reason they'd slept in -- the rest had to do with the difference in time zone that made the trip exhausting. Arriving several days early was an attempt at giving them time to adjust so they would be at the top of their game, as Tom Glendenning had put it.

"Have you come to visit before?" Sela asked, reaching for her glass.

"She's wondering why she's never seen you, Ael," Narviat said. Jovial and happy, to all appearances, though Deanna could sense he was starting to feel otherwise. He knew then that Sela was a risk to their effort. "Ael is young, only now old enough to understand and be entrusted with more confidential matters. Her father no longer makes her decisions for her, else I am sure he would have me continue to hide her away from everyone."

"From the young men, you mean," Tarel said, giving Deanna a sly look. "To protect them."

Deanna returned the look, smirking, sipping her drink. No words were necessary to respond to that.

"So you are thinking of joining the military?" Sela asked lazily, watching one of the other employees bringing in food to place dishes on the sideboard slightly behind her. Her eyes went back to Deanna. She wasn't wearing the uniform; she had a silver sleeveless blouse that mimicked it though.

"I don't know," she said as she shrugged diffidently. "Maybe. It would make Uncle happy, it would make my mother happy. It might be a good thing for me."

Sela put down her glass and withdrew her hand. Her head tilted thoughtfully and her eyes narrowed. Then she smiled, and sat back a little, relaxing. "It's a rewarding pursuit. You would have a very good life if you were to work your way through the ranks."

"I don't know that I would be very good at it, and if it involves getting so damaged," she gestured vaguely over her shoulder at Erket, "I think I would rather find a nice general to marry."

Tarel sighed audibly, shaking her head, and sipped her drink as Tet and his assistant started delivering full plates of food to the table. "You underestimate yourself, dear."

Deanna thought about what her mother would say, and modified it to suit. "Life is too short to give it away to politicians. If I do anything I would much rather teach. I enjoyed taking care of my little sister and brother, I would enjoy teaching children."

"Your mother did say you are very patient with Arellan," Narviat said with the air of a doting father. "I believe you would be a good teacher -- you have the aptitude, certainly. But Sela is also correct that the military is a stable and supportive path -- as you should know." Her alias had parents who had both been military.

"As I do know," Deanna said. "But I hope my opinion matters?"

Tarel laughed delightedly -- authentically amused, Deanna could tell. " _Tetya,_ of course it does. We do not have to settle your future over our meal, after all. But I hope you will allow your uncle to take you on a tour of the Imperial War College while you are here and meet some of his friends? Play it safe, don't close any doors that you can easily keep open."

"I would very much like to -- no need to pass up an opportunity to meet some very handsome single soldiers with advancement on their minds."

Narviat and Sela laughed at that arch comment, delivered with a saucy little shrug, and Deanna wished there might be a way to thank her mother for the education in flippancy and being entirely too focused on finding and marrying a man. It gave her a way to use Captain Glendenning's favorite tool, deflection into irrelevance, in a most useful manner. She could sense Sela's suspicion, slight as it had been, waning as the conversation turned to the military -- Narviat kept Sela busy answering questions about her warbird, her patrols, not that she would answer with specifics but he framed the questions in terms of her welfare and her impressions of the general security of the Empire. It was educational, and helpful that it was nothing new for him to do so -- clearly they had had similar conversations before and Sela was at ease with the discussion. 

After lunch, a meal featuring a cut of some sort of meat and a scanty pile of vegetables, Sela went her way and Tarel invited Jean-Luc to sit down and eat. Deanna wondered if Tet and his assistant had now been given specific instructions about them, as neither of them were at all curious about why Erket would be treated in this manner. Tet even gave him a glass of the wine. 

"Thank you, I was worried that my stomach would start to complain too loudly," he said, starting to eat with gusto.

"You are doing very well indeed," Narviat said with a grin. "I wasn't expecting her but I couldn't simply turn her away when she arrived. She's very much the suspicious type, and that you were able to set her at ease took skill."

"Thank you," Deanna said. "Do you know her well, then?"

"We met her five years ago. She has been part of a growing movement in the Empire, favoring reunification with Vulcan," Narviat said. 

That shocked her, and she looked at Jean-Luc, who had stopped eating to look at her. As their eyes met, she pushed the question to him.  _Should we tell them?_

"Is something wrong?" Tarel said tentatively.

Jean-Luc thought intently for a moment. "I wonder if you had heard of an incident nine years ago, about an attack force sent to Vulcan from Romulus?"

"I was still in the military then. I do remember hearing that a fleet had been attacked and destroyed on the way to the Federation, and there was significant anger from the populace. I did not hear that they were bound specifically for Vulcan." Narviat watched their reaction with great concern. "You think that this is the incident you describe?"

"Are you in agreement with those favoring reunification?" Deanna asked.

"I am in theory, however, I know that the senate is largely made up of those who resist such a notion. It would deprive many of them of the power they have over the Empire," Narviat said. "But I believe that eventually it should happen."

"It would take a revolution to shift the balance of power in the Empire," Tarel said. "There are a great many who have said the same - some who tried publicly and openly to shift the citizens to speak out, march on the palace, and were put down by the military at the order of the Praetor, in the name of the Empire."

"There were as I understand it many of those sorts of revolutions on Earth," Narviat said. "It's unfortunate that progress has to be made through violence."

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc, who was eating again, with less enthusiasm. "There were such revolutions. But Earth does not force anyone to stay, or to be silent."

"Is Sela a very close friend?" Jean-Luc asked. 

Tarel and Narviat exchanged a concerned look. "We do not talk to her about our beliefs, if you are concerned," Narviat said. "Our family and our employees whom we trust implicitly, only. There are very few others we have gradually learned to trust but not be totally confiding. We have been slow to reveal much even to those who seem trusthworthy -- we know that there are those who will say they agree with us, regarding the Empire making peace with the Federation and moving away from the absolute rule of our current regime to a more democratic society, and then label someone a traitor to the Empire to gain someone's favor or prove their own patriotism. Sela has made her way out of disfavor in this fashion so we are under no illusion as to her trustworthiness."

"Good," Jean-Luc said with a great deal of relief. Deanna nodded, affirming that she could sense no deceit -- Narviat had been sincere, consistently, since their arrival. 

"You rely on Ael for confirmation," Tarel said. "You watch her when you ask one of us a question. I go back and forth -- sometimes it seems you are actually in charge, and in other instances you defer to her judgment."

Deanna looked directly at him, waiting for his confirmation before going any further. He sighed -- she understood, because of the seriousness of the mission, why he would be hesitant.  _I think it would help the mission if they knew more about us. I think it would help motivate them to listen, if we have to ask them for help. And I think it's likely that we will have to._

"I know that you were not told very much about us, and why that is so," he said. "But it may be helpful to the mission if you understood -- I do outrank her, but she has abilities that I do not, and I have learned to trust her implicitly when she informs me that someone is trustworthy, or deceitful."

Narviat sat up straighter at that. "Abilities? You cannot mean telepathy. I would know, if you probed."

"No. I can sense how you feel," Deanna said. "I can tell when someone lies, and I can tell whether they are lying to me out of greed, necessity, malice, or anger. I can tell that Sela makes you very anxious and that reassures me."

Narviat gaped openly for a moment. He started to laugh, not the polite chortle he'd been making, but a rolling, deep, genuine one. "That is certainly more useful for intelligence work than telepathy," he said, turning to Tarel. "Then we can rely on this as well. Very useful talent, indeed."

"You find it reassuring," Tarel echoed. "You know Sela."

"We have dealt with her in the past," Jean-Luc admitted. "In fact... I believe she is only a part of the reunification movement to locate the people involved and undermine their efforts, as that is how I know her. I came to speak with Spock and she took advantage."

"You know Spock," Narviat said quietly, with reverence and respect. Implying that he knew Spock and respected him -- there was a deep resonance of feeling underneath the thought of Spock.

Deanna turned to Jean-Luc and waited, gazing at him. Their hosts noticed her seriousness and waited expectantly.

"You have something to say about Sela," Jean-Luc said, giving the nod.

"I am thinking about her mother," Deanna said. She turned to look at Narviat. "We were very close."

That shocked their hosts. "You are kind, revealing these things one at a time," Narviat said with a wry smile. "I think my heart would not take so much revelation all at once. You have a very good costume, if you are so old."

"It's... a long story," Jean-Luc said. "I am not sure that it is relevant to the mission. But the short version is that time travel was involved in how it came about that my former officer became a prisoner of the Empire. And I am uncertain as to the full story, as I do not believe what Sela told me before. Either she was lied to, or she lied."

"Likely both. Sela is not her mother. She merely sounds and looks like her," Deanna said. "It is of no consequence."

"You sound Romulan, now," Tarel said appreciatively. "At times you sound human. But I think you are not. No human has the ability to sense what others are feeling."

"Half human, as Sela is," Deanna said.

"There are days that I wish that I could relax," Narviat said. He had been contemplative as they talked, and this was clearly the result. "That being Romulan could mean not having to live wondering if your neighbor is telling someone about who visits your house."

"I am surprised there are not more Romulans escaping into the Federation," Deanna said. 

"We never hear what happens to the few that do go," Tarel said. "I know better than to believe they are executed, as rumor has it. But how they are treated and where they live, we never know."

Jean-Luc finished the glass of wine, set it aside, and settled back in his chair. "I know where some of them are. The former Vice Proconsul M'Ret and his aides are living as citizens of the Federation, on a Federation colony. I believe he initially spent six months on Earth, with some of our admirals and diplomatic staff. He tried to establish communication with people here on Romulus to facilitate a way for those wanting reunification to make their way to Vulcan, but one and all they wrote him off as a traitor, and so he gave Starfleet as much information as he could in the hopes that as time passed the political climate here would change and make it possible."

"Is his wife still alive?" Deanna asked their hosts. "Her name was Tyreen?"

Tarel's eyebrows climbed yet again. "She is. After his defection she retreated into the family home, and is not often seen outside its walls. Why?"

"I have a message for her, that I agreed to deliver if it were possible to do so without compromising the mission."

"We could try," Tarel said. "I have not spoken to her in four months."

Narviat stared at them with growing frustration, and Deanna returned his gaze in hopes of his disclosing why. Finally he said, "Do you consider yourselves typical Starfleet officers?"

"I do," Jean-Luc said. "Why do you ask?"

"I begin to see the true depths of the deceit of my own government," he said. "I was always taught that Starfleet were duplicitous and unreliable. You wish to do this, for a woman you have never met -- there could be no political reason for helping a wife of a man labeled a traitor."

"I have suspected that the government's control of all information about the Federation keeps your people from understanding the true nature of Federation species," Jean-Luc said. "It is not an unusual tactic for those seeking to control a population to use. I do not feel it necessary or useful to assume the nature of an individual based on the reported characteristics of his entire species. No stereotype is universal. I do feel, based on my limited experience of your people, that we have more in common than they would have you believe."

"I have had experiences with Romulan officers that told me that you are honorable and ethical people -- there are many in the Federation who share those qualities with you, and I strive to be one of them. I have a great deal of respect for Commander Toreth, for example," Deanna said.

"Toreth," Tarel blurted. Too late, Deanna realized that was too much disclosure. But Tarel smiled. "You know my sister."

"I wouldn't say that," Deanna replied carefully. "I know that she wouldn't know me. It was a brief encounter, but she left an impression on me."

"If you are going to the market, you may wish to go now," Narviat said. 

"He's correct. It will be closed by sundown." Tarel stood up, gestured at the door. "If you are ready to depart?"

"I would like to invite some of our friends for dinner, as it would be odd to have our niece arrive and not do so." Narviat followed them out of the dining room into the foyer.

"How many of our friends?" Tarel asked. 

"Four, don't you think?" Evidently his wife knew which four, as she agreed with a nod.

As they left the house and strolled down the walk with Tarel, she looked over her shoulder at Jean-Luc, then put a hand on Deanna's shoulder as they walked. "You believe that the Federation would welcome Romulan expatriates?"

"There are those who would be suspicious, or angry, just as you have within the Empire people who would protest an alliance with the Federation," Deanna admitted. "But we would take in refugees. It has even been the case that individuals from worlds that are not members of the Federation who ask for asylum are able to join Starfleet. We had a crew member whose grandfather was Romulan. There have been Klingon officers, even when there has been no Klingon treaty with the Federation. There is no lack of worlds that any number of Romulans could re-home themselves on -- colonies are often multi-species within the Federation, communities can number in the tens of thousands."

"That is good to know. I find it encouraging."

"Do you know Spock?" Deanna asked, as they walked down between the long lines of young fruit trees toward the gate. 

"Narviat has spent many hours with him. He has learned more about Vulcan culture than I -- started to speak the language a little. Do you also know Spock?"

"I have not met him. I know of him, though. He is a respected and valued member of the Federation. That he has chosen to be here and is allowed to be should also demonstrate that the Federation does not control its members, should it not?"

Tarel nodded as they reached the gate. "That was one of the reasons Narviat was open to what he has to say." She took Deanna's arm in hers, as the gate slid open and they stepped out onto the street. "The market is not far. I will show you Tyreen's home on the way. It's very close."

The home of M'Ret's wife was actually three estates away -- the gate had a large animal resembling a stag, another house sigil, centered on the heavy bars. "We can stop on the way back from the market," Deanna said. "If you do not want to be here when we make contact."

"I have no problem with doing it now -- I can accompany you, in fact, as it is no one's business whether I pay my respects to Tyreen t'Nai."

Jean-Luc stepped up to the small terminal set into the pillar on the right and pushed at it. A male voice responded with a terse "Name?"

"Tarel t'Aimne," their hostess announced, before either of them could speak. " _Jolan tru_ , Darani. Is she home?"

"Of course," came the less-terse response. "Your business?"

"I have been remiss in letting so much time pass -- I would like to pay my respects and ask her to dinner, though I know her answer, but I felt it only polite."

"Enter."

The gate creaked open, and they walked a short steep path to the house. It was as large as the house of Aimne but less kept up. The front door opened as they approached. An old Romulan, the first Deanna had seen with some gray hair, stood there. He graced Tarel with a faint smile. "Who are these?" he demanded.

"My niece Ael, and her security detail. Ael is visiting for the founding day celebration. Her first time in the capital. I wanted to introduce her to Tyreen."

Darani stepped aside and held the door open wider. Their footsteps echoed in the great hall, and Deanna followed her "aunt" to the right, into a huge sunny room with clear ceiling panels. Jean-Luc hovered at her back, a reassuring presence. There were trellises with vines along one side of the room and a fountain in the center, surrounded by chairs and benches; in one chair sat an older woman, her straight shoulder-length hair still black, though there were strands of gray. She stood up and faced them, the angular lines of her face showing the anger she felt. It softened somewhat, as her anger eased when Tarel came closer with a smile.

" _Nehil_ ," Tarel said, holding her hands out and open. 

"Tarel," the woman replied. Finally, she smiled. 

"My apology for interrupting. I have been too long absent." 

Darani retreated from the room, having seen that his mistress was not objecting, and at the sound of the door Tarel turned to Deanna and held out a hand. 

"This is someone with a message for you," she said.

Deanna nodded, and smiled sadly at the old Romulan woman. "Your husband M'Ret sends you greetings." She paused, as the shock of it hardened Tyreen's features. "He would like you to remember that he told you before he left that he would send for you. He would like you to know that he is well, living in freedom and wishing that you were with him."

Tyreen took a step toward her. "Do you have the word?"

"The word is  _nyev'hilae_ ," Deanna said, pronouncing it carefully. It was apparently M'Ret's nickname for his wife, and she smiled brilliantly at the sound of it, tears gathering in her eyes.

"How is it that you bring this to me?" 

Tarel was watching with wide eyes, pleased by this exchange. She turned to Tyreen again, smiling. Happy for her friend.

"Your husband risked his life, to make an attempt to further the goal of peace with the Federation and reunification with Vulcan, and to express our gratitude for his efforts the Federation will do their best to bring you to him. If you wish to go. There is a vessel waiting outside the Neutral Zone, to take you to the world he has made his home." 

The woman started to cry, holding her hands to her cheeks. "Yes. I wish to go."

"You will be able to travel to Sevione to the inn?" The very small town attached to the ore processing facility and its shuttle pad only had one inn. "We will be there in five days. You can accompany us from there."

"If I may bring Darani. He will arrange for transportation. I will dress as a farmer." She understood very well, then, how this would have to be.

"I apologize if this causes offense, but I need to know if you will report this conversation after we leave."

Tarel inhaled sharply; Deanna heard the slight sound, but did not turn to look. She watched Tyreen's face as the woman's cheeks darkened slightly, and slowly she started to process the request rationally, after a moment of shocked outrage. "I will not," she said firmly. 

"If you are not at the inn, we will assume you changed your mind. Nothing further will be offered, no one will bother you again.  _Jolan tru_ , Tyreen t'Nai."

"And if you are not there?" Tyreen said, with a twitch of her right eyebrow. 

"If we are not there, the morning of the sixth day, ask the innkeeper to contact the captain of a freighter called the  _Y'haillave._ The freighter captain knows only that he has passengers who will pay him to be there and take them to a colony, where he will leave them. At the colony a Starfleet officer off duty will be waiting in a bar called the Green Andorian. Likely he will be the only human there. He will take you the rest of the way." Deanna touched the woman's hand, leaning in. "M'Ret has never forgotten you."

"Thank you," Tyreen said, with feeling. Her dark eyes peered into Deanna's face, as she scrutinized her -- curious about her. "I will tell the very few who still talk to me that I am traveling to see my son. He will stall any inquiries -- I will have to tell him where I am going and say farewell to him. He is trustworthy. I do not believe anyone will care, honestly. I am nothing to anyone other than my son."

Deanna could tell the woman had spent a very long time in dark places, and she tried not to show too much of what she sensed. "We will see you in five days."

Tarel lingered as Jean-Luc followed Deanna out of the room, and caught up to them. Darani was in the foyer, and let them out without a word. Tarel caught Deanna's arm again as they walked down the hill back to the street.

"The Federation is very serious about an end to hostilities with Romulus," Deanna said softly, knowing she would be heard. "And it is known that Romulans can be bonded, very much the same as Vulcans do -- M'Ret has suffered for his actions over the years. So his friends in the Federation appealed to Starfleet, and options were discussed. It was not our primary mission but it was important. Thank you for helping us."

The gate opened for them and they turned into the lane, which had some other foot traffic. Tarel was still feeling happiness about the encounter, and seemed speechless. Jean-Luc was also optimistic but in a more reserved manner. She focused more, to speak to him.  _She was not lying, and she is very motivated to go. Tarel is overjoyed for her._

_But you cannot mistake sentiment or any other positive feeling for confirmation that anyone here will follow through with helping us. We are also capable of doing our duty while feeling otherwise. Be on your guard._

_I know, Jean. Trust but verify._ Deanna smiled at Tarel, as they walked down the street, hoping that the next few days would go as well as meeting M'Ret's wife.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episodes referenced: DS9 - Inter arma enim silent leges, Extreme Measures.
> 
> DS9 delved into Section 31 more than the other series. Extreme Measures was the basis for the implants that the agents in my series are using, though my version of the implants are more versatile than just a suicide device. This episode also establishes that Romulans have memory scanners, which Bashir uses on Sloan to find a cure for Odo - and then if we travel back to the series Enterprise, we might remember that Romulans also had this device which allowed them to put a telepathic Andorian to use piloting vessels remotely. The Romulans, for a lot of reasons, are a pretty formidable enemy to have. Which is why I hadn't really written a lot about them before... 
> 
> Koval is as described in Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges. A Federation operative under deep cover on Romulus. Or... is he? Was he working for Section 31? And why would he do that? They don't work for the best interests of anyone but the Federation...

Jean-Luc started to feel a new appreciation for his position as a fly on the wall about halfway through dinner. He found that it was easier to take in all the details, when he wasn't actively involved in the conversation. Perhaps he needed to hand off some of the diplomatic missions - let Deanna do all the talking, and simply observe.

It was frightening to watch how well she played the young Romulan "princess" being introduced into the world of older adults. The insouciance and youthful arrogance worked for her, and she could turn the conversation around with a smile by the time the first course was served. The guests were four of Narviat's friends, and most of the conversation trended toward reminiscing, the rest their friendly inquiries of Ael, the treasured niece they'd not met yet. Older Romulans seemed to be very indulgent of the young, another similarity to humans.

Jean-Luc learned that officers in the Imperial Fleet were very much like Starfleet officers, from listening to them -- loyal to each other, sometimes more than to the Imperial Fleet. There were some comments made about the bureaucracy with bitterness that suggested it was the same thing, different jurisdiction....

When all was said and done, the guests left, laughing and talking as Narviat escorted them to the door, and Deanna retreated from the formal dining room to the more relaxed and smaller room across the hall. Deanna collapsed in a plush chair near the fireplace and looked up at Jean-Luc as he came to stand over her.

"You were the life of the party," he said in Standard.

"I'm the corpse of the party now. My head hurts."

"Too much drink, not enough water." Jean-Luc glanced at Tet as he entered the room; despite the fact that they were speaking Standard, the butler turned and left again, returning with a couple of glasses of water to hand to him. "Thank you," Jean-Luc said.

"You are welcome," Tet said in Romulan.

Narviat and Tarel arrived, all smiles. Narviat clapped his hands merrily. "That went very well. Excellent evening -- a good foundation for the event, you will already have friends to spend time with. You've chosen a very workable cover."

"She's tired," Tarel said, sympathetic. She took the seat nearest Deanna and looked at her affectionately.

"The time difference," Jean-Luc said, switching back to Romulan, as their hosts were speaking it. "Still adjusting. I'm feeling it as well, so I'm glad I have been standing the entire evening."

Narviat had gone to the cabinet near the window, which was heavily draped in fabric. He poured two dainty glasses of bright blue liquid and brought one to his wife. "I have a question, if you would entertain my curiosity? "

"What question?" Jean-Luc asked.

"If you are actually a couple."

"Oh." He glanced at Deanna, as she rubbed her eyes.

"It is fairly obvious, I suppose." Deanna was as tired as she sounded, but he thought she might be annoyed. _You had some feelings when the one fellow flirted with me that might have shown in your face._

Tet returned with a plate of food for Jean-Luc. He took a seat finally, and Deanna smiled at him as he ate hungrily.

"It will be nice to be able to eat together again some day," she commented, drinking the last of her water.

"It will be nice not to flinch when I look in a mirror," he said.

A thundering boom on the front door echoed through the house. Tet shot a look at Narviat and hurried out. Jean-Luc stood up, setting aside the plate of food, and followed at a jog, and when he noticed Deanna chasing after held up a hand, dismissing her back to her chair. He reached the front door as Tet opened it.

A Romulan soldier stood in the dim light of the lamp mounted over the door. Arrogant, tall, in uniform and stony-faced. "I am here to see Narviat," he said, with the soft conciliatory tone that Jean-Luc associated with any Romulan who believed himself superior to those in his presence.

Tet bowed, stepped out of the door, and the man stepped in -- paused, upon seeing Jean-Luc standing there with a disruptor on his hip and a stern look on his face. "You are?"

"Erket, security for t'Aimne," Jean-Luc said firmly. He had been schooled in being terse - a security officer had no reason to explain anything. His business was protection of his charges.

"I am Chairman Koval. I am here to speak to Narviat. Is he here?"

"Tet," Jean-Luc said, and the man took his meaning and hurried off into the parlor. Narviat arrived a moment later.

"Chairman," he exclaimed in surprise. "I presume there is some urgent matter? It is very late in the evening. We were on the verge of retiring for the night."

"I am here to speak to the Federation operative you have in your home."

This flat statement startled Jean-Luc -- he kept his demeanor as stony as he'd been, and turned to Narviat for guidance. The twitch of Narviat's cheek was odd, until he remembered the signals that Glendenning had taught Deanna. He thought about her as he glanced at Koval again, to see the slight movement of the fingers on his right hand and a barely-noticeable movement of the chin.

 _What is it?_ Deanna was exhausted; she was struggling to connect with him and the thought was faint.

 _They are communicating using the signals. Do you know what it means?_ He pictured the movements, glad that this form of communication was so swift.

_I think Narviat asked for confirmation of some kind and the other confirmed._

"Come in," Narviat said, waving the man toward the parlor.

Jean-Luc followed Koval, ready with his hand on the disruptor, watching him carefully. And Narviat. This had not been discussed as a possibility.

"Ael," Narviat said, approaching the fireplace. Deanna stood up at his summons and froze as she saw Koval, mimicking shock very well. "Chairman Koval, this is Ael. She arrived yesterday."

"I am here to inform you that the parameters of your mission have changed," Koval said. "There will be additional security at the palace. It will thwart your attempt. Admiral Tessora informed me that I should give you new codes with which to breach the security office and find the file." He held out an isolinear chip of Federation design.

Deanna stared at it, then at Koval's face, her own expression as impassive as a Vulcan's.

"Forgive me," Koval said with a tight smile. "The word is -- 'swan.'" He enunciated it carefully.

Deanna took the chip from him, and nodded. In the circumstance she was doing a remarkable job of being calm.

"If we see each other at the event, this never happened," Koval said. He bowed slightly.

"Understood," Deanna said. She watched him leave, Tet shadowing him. After the front door thudded closed, Tet returned with a wide-eyed expression of relief.

There were a number of things that started to process, for Jean-Luc -- the fact that Narviat had not identified Jean-Luc as another Federation operative, the fact that a high-ranking member of the military had used a code word to contact a Federation operative with information supporting a Federation attempt to retrieve information from his own government -- this was a staggering development. And their hosts were equally stunned, from their shocked looks.

"Koval," Tarel said quietly. "And the Federation."

"He obviously knows about us," Narviat murmured, shaking his head, starting to pace and fidget with his hands. "He knows. Because this -- he -- "

"Breathe," Deanna said softly. "Tet, may I have more water please?" When the butler was gone, she put her hands on her hips and stared at Narviat. "Was he your superior at one time?"

"Yes."

"It makes sense. Being part of the Tal Shiar would help you know better how to avoid discovery, as you try to help your people find their way to peace. What did you confirm, when you met him?"

Narviat wasn't shaken by her awareness of Koval's affiliation, but her knowledge of the confirmation had an impact. "It is standard procedure to confirm that one is Tal Shiar, there have been incidents of impersonation that led to security breaches. Easy for anyone to pay a surgeon. I did not realize he was a Federation operative. He has always been a merciless and devout patriot -- to all appearances."

"He lied," Deanna exclaimed, angry to the point of making fists. "He had no contact with Tessora. Whatever is on this chip, it did not come from Starfleet. Whatever he is doing, it has nothing to do with our orders that he clearly has been informed about." She turned, taking a step toward Jean-Luc. "He lied about the changes in security, so either he has not implemented them yet or there have been none and these codes will give us away."

"We should abort the mission," Jean-Luc said at once. 

"No. Not yet. We need to think about this," Deanna said. Tet came in while they were talking, and stood nearby holding the glass of water. She turned to him and took it. "Thank you."

"I will be in my room if you need me, sir," Tet said, and at Narviat's nod he exited the room.

A few moments passed, and Deanna shot a look at Jean-Luc. He followed Tet, ignoring Narviat as he started to speak. The butler was already out of sight but Jean-Luc knew where the servant quarters were, at the back of the house and in a basement, so he headed that direction. The door at the bottom of a narrow but well-lit stairwell was slightly ajar. He descended quietly and paused outside. Tet was speaking to Arja and Telum, the other two employees. 

"The Tal Shiar knows about them," the man was saying in Romulan. 

"We should go. Mizonna can get us off the planet," Arja said - he assumed it was the woman, the voice sounded feminine. Arja had never spoken when she was serving. 

"Abandon the Aimne? We told Narviat we would stay," Telum said. 

"We should stay until morning. Talk to him. Let him understand why we are leaving." 

Jean-Luc tiptoed upstairs and hurried back to the parlor, reassured that they were not spies but fearful dissidents. He came in as Narviat was speaking about Koval, pausing in mid-sentence as Jean-Luc approached. 

"The three of them are terrified. Thinking they need to flee," he said. 

"That may be best," Narviat said. "I was just telling Ael that Koval actually appearing here may mean more than we think. For him to make his dual identity known in such a way -- it may be best for all of us to leave, as soon as possible."

"But would anyone believe you if you told them?" Deanna pointed out. "You would sound like a lunatic, if his reputation is so solid as you say it is."

Narviat finally turned to look at his wife, and found her watching him with a tense but sharply appraising expression. "I may be overreacting," he said at last. 

"The Tal Shiar have made people vanish," Tarel said. "It is an understandable overreaction. But he gave you the correct word?"

Deanna nodded, looking at Jean-Luc. "He would not have known that word unless one of a very small number of people gave it to him. This is a problem."

"He was lying, when he said he spoke to Tessora. So it was not the admiral." Jean-Luc knew what that meant.

Deanna pressed her lips together and stared at the floor, scowling. She clearly did not want to mention the other person.

"Have you sensed him at all?"

That startled her, when nothing else so far had -- she took a step backward, raised her head like an animal trying to catch the scent of prey, turning toward the fire then back toward him. And stood for a moment in shock.

"Why would he be on Romulus?"

"Who?" Narviat asked.

It felt like this was a pivot point -- Jean-Luc weighed everything that had been said so far, studied Narviat and his wife, and made a decision. "Someone who works with Starfleet Intelligence. He trained us for this mission and knew the word, as he helped us select it. I think, as all of this plays itself out, that I understand more and more -- you were not selected for this on a whim," he said to Deanna. "I wonder if there is even a file for you to retrieve. Because he had to have set Koval in motion to come here. He had to give him the word. Why would he do that?"

"Do you want a guess that relies entirely upon what I sense?" she said softly. 

"Your sense of things has proven out more often than not. And it could guide us to something useful."

Deanna hugged herself miserably. "I think that Starfleet Intelligence sent us on a mission and Section 31 is co-opting it."

"You think  _Tom_ is -- " Jean-Luc took the moment. "That makes sense, actually."

"Except I don't think he is doing it willingly," she said. "If he is working against us, it isn't what he wanted to do. It isn't consistent with how he felt -- if it was the plan all along, he would have been different, while we were training. And right now, wherever he is, he's feeling very anxious. We know they manipulate, in ways that Starfleet does not. They may be using him just as they are now trying to use us."

"Perhaps they forced him or tricked him into giving up the information?" If Section 31 operatives were also Starfleet, it was of course impossible to tell -- another admiral could have issued a direct order and absent circumstances that would prevent Tom from objecting, he might have followed it, given up the information which would have been passed along then by someone else. And Jean-Luc thought about being in such a position himself -- going to the aid of fellow officers who had been put in this situation might have been exactly his reaction, if he realized in retrospect what would happen as a result of giving up the information.

"This person you are describing, you sense him here?" Narviat asked.

Deanna bowed her head and closed her eyes for a moment. "We should get some sleep," she said at last. "Get up and discuss all of this over breakfast, when we have rested, and decide what to do. I sense nothing that indicates that anyone is marching on the house, or sneaking in a window. For now, we should take Koval at face value and think about the ramifications when we are more clear-headed. Some of us have been drinking and all of us are exhausted."

"This is true," Tarel said at once. "I will set the house computer to monitor movement on the perimeter. It will sound the alarm if anyone attempts to break in."

"Good night," Jean-Luc said, following Deanna toward the door.

Once they were in their suite, Jean-Luc closed the door and Deanna went to close the window. She started peeling off the long tunic, stripped off the tight pants, her movements abrupt and likely a good indicator of mood. 

He did the same, dropping clothing over a chair and coming to climb into bed. He didn't think he would be able to sleep, but must have been more weary than he'd noticed; within seconds of his head hitting the stiff little pillow, he was out.

The next thing he knew, there was sunlight in his face. Deanna was snug against his side, where she often ended up in the night. He closed his eyes again and briefly considered going back to sleep, but there were too many questions to answer. "Dee."

She made a muffled noise and pushed herself up, her hair spilling all around her. Her dislike for mornings intensified when she hadn't rested well, and she had the swollen eyes and frown already. "We need to get going."

"Take a minute to wake up."

She peered at him with a scowl and swung her legs out of the bed. By the time she returned from the bathroom, she seemed better. She sat on the end of the bed, naked and looking back at him, the long braids partially obscuring her body. "I can still sense Tom. He's closer. I wonder if he intends to make contact?"

"I wonder if he is working with Koval, and to what end." Jean-Luc got out of bed and went to put yesterday's clothes in a hamper in the corner, then fetched clean clothing from the cabinet. 

"If I can ask him I will. I don't like this, Captain," she said, making sure he understood that her concern was professional.

"I can't say that I was optimistic about this," he said with a sigh. "We have to find a way out of the Empire. Narviat may be able to find alternate transportation for us. Here's another question - if Koval is a Federation agent why the hell are we here? Wouldn't he be authorized to such things as secure files in the servers at the Imperial Palace?"

"Something tells me he could get away with giving away secure information about as well as you could get away with sabotaging the warp core," Deanna said. "You might have clearance, but do you have the ability and the low profile?"

"Why do we think Koval is the _only_ deep cover agent here?"

"Is it doing any good to make guesses this way?"

He came to sit next to her, tossing the folded clothing aside on the bed, and put an arm around her. She sounded depressed. Not typically where she went emotionally, at any point, in any mission. She turned her face against his shoulder and leaned heavily against him. Her body was warmer than he'd expected. The greenish tinge to her skin extended to her nipples; the doctor had injected something into the blood that would change its color without impacting their health. He'd lost track of the details, somewhere in the middle of the longest sickbay stay for non-medical reasons he'd ever had.

It had been days since he'd even felt attracted to her, he realized -- she looked that different from herself and the mission had had his entire attention. He turned his focus to her this time to reconnect, to kiss her -- as their lips touched she opened her mouth and her mind, and his arms went around her as her body came to his. She swung around and straddled his thighs, chest to chest, as the kiss intensified.

The electric nature of the bond sang through him. Suddenly she was alive again, and everything else forgotten. He forgot the ears, the forehead and the hair, focused on the fire.

A knocking on the door broke them apart, dousing the flame with disappointing abruptness. She slid off his lap and hurried into the bathroom, so he grabbed the pants and pulled them over his feet, yanking them up as he stood. When he got to the door and opened it, Tet stood there.

"We are serving the morning meal," the butler said, as if nothing had happened last night.

"Good. We will be there shortly. Thank you."

The business of getting ready to go occupied them, then she came to him -- today wearing a shining red tunic over shimmering bronze pants. She'd tied the bulk of the braids up on the crown of her head and let them dangle down to her hips.

"Let's go sort this out," he said.

Narviat, Tarel, Tet, Arja and Telum were all there, the three servants standing in a row -- Deanna sat down across from Tarel, and after a glance around at the serious faces Jean-Luc sat next to her. One by one the servants sat down on Tarel's right.

"I have an idea," Deanna said in Romulan, turning to Jean-Luc.

"Let's hear it then." He had done his share of thinking in the bathroom as well.

She looked at Narviat, at Tarel, and calmly laid it all out as she would in any debriefing aboard the _Enterprise_. "We have too many questions and not enough answers, but there are some things we do know. We have our orders as they came to us from our superior officer. We have our training - we know the layout of the palace and quite a lot about the security measures in place there. We know that Koval has information about our mission, I would assume that he has all of it. So now we only have the element of surprise in our favor. I wondered, as I thought about it this morning -- why warn us at all, if Koval wanted to stop us? He could have brought troops."

"Allowing you to make the attempt and putting on a show of capturing you in the act would be more defensible than storming the house and killing all of us," Narviat said. "Capturing more Federation spies would be good for him."

"Which is why we need to go today, instead of after the event starts. I can trim my hair, put on plain clothes, get a job with one of the crews set up for the dinner, slip away and do the job, come back here and change."

Narviat gaped, and looked at his staff and his wife. "What about Tyreen?"

"If you would assist us in rescheduling our exit plan, we can inform her. When we return from the palace Arja can re-attach the extensions on my hair, recreate Ael, and we can depart for the dinner together. Attend the dinner at the palace and do nothing -- Koval will be present, of course, but we will be in the hall until we depart for home. He can watch us all he likes. And we depart tonight, directly after the dinner -- bring Tet, Arja and Telum. They can leave Romulus with us."

"Are you willing to help?" Tarel said, turning to the servants. 

Jean-Luc wished, as he listened to them talk, that there were other options. But Deanna was correct. They had come to do a job and understood they might die trying. Might as well try....


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna held up the huge bundle of flowers as if it were incredibly awkward to carry, because they were awkward but also to obscure her face as she walked in line behind the others into a service entrance. Two armed soldiers stood on either side of the door looking very bored.

Narviat had been able to contact some of the others in the reunification movement who were working with businesses in the capital, and of course that led to a lot of offers, but ultimately they chose the florist. Putting decorations in the dining area and the corridors around it that would take guests to balconies to view the fireworks (not precisely the same as fireworks, really a display of weaponry, but for the same purpose) as well as to bathrooms and other facilities would give her a great deal of freedom of movement.

She participated in the decoration of the dining room, setting up bouquets in the center of tables, thinking about her mother's lectures and lessons on decorating for parties with a new appreciation. She even reaped compliments for her work. Then she toured the cavernous room studying tables, making adjustments here and there, and left via the corridor to one of the balconies. She stopped to talk to people and compliment their work making the drab gray corridors more festive as they attached streamers and small bouquets at regular intervals.

Two more corridors of similar, and she crossed the room to do the same, in the corridor that would take her to one of the bathrooms. When she checked her way down readjusting the green and silver ribbon along the wall, ignoring the security officer that strolled down past her, she made a careful sweep -- she sensed very few people in this part of the palace. In the bathroom, where there were no people and no surveillance devices, she pulled a tool from a hidden pocket in the black coat she wore, removed the vent near the floor at the far end of the room, and crawled inside. Pulling the vent back into place, she started to make her way to the locked, secure room she was supposed to find the secure terminal from which she was supposed to copy the files containing information about what Romulus knew about the Federation, about Romulan agents in the Federation, and any other files she might find.

There were of course impediments. Every so often she had to use the tool to dislodge a barrier that appeared to be solely for the purpose of keeping people from easily moving through the ductwork. And she was small enough, but only barely, to move through without touching the walls, which appeared to have a tacky surface that Tom had said would be corrosive.

It took her the better part of an hour to get through the hundred yards of duct. When she reached the vent she waited, listening, verifying what she sensed was true, no one in the room. Taking a deep breath, ignoring her aching knees, she slowly unfastened the vent and carefully eased it to the floor without a sound, and crawled out. Stood up. The room looked like any basic office. An immense desk with a glossy steel-gray surface in the corner, and no windows. There were no decorations anywhere.

She went to the desk and studied it. Reaching into her coat, to the small pocket inside the right front, she took out two Romulan data modules -- the one she'd carried all the way from Federation space, and the one Koval had brought to the Aimne home. They looked almost identical, but for a series of symbols on the end. She had a fifty-fifty chance of being wrong, she estimated. Rather than examine and use one or the other, she put one in the slot and watched the readout.

The surface sprang to life and data streamed across the desk, and she caught some of it - there were names, of people and places in the Federation. There were Romulan names as well. The program was designed to extract information without setting off alarms and to let her get out of the office in as short a time as possible. After a few moments the display turned itself off, and she pulled out the module. The one she used went back in the same pocket, the other into another pocket with the small weapon she carried.

Deanna went to the door and concentrated on the hall outside. She sensed no one within what she expected to be visual range of the door, so she walked out. The doors were all, Tom had explained, designed to keep people out, but never prevented people exiting. Tucking her chin, she shuffled quickly through the corridors until she reached the area she was supposed to be in, where the florists were finishing up their appointed tasks and regathering in the dining hall. She busied herself and did her best to look like just another lowly citizen of the Romulan Empire doing a job, helping her co-workers gather up stray packaging and odds and ends left over from creating bouquets on two hundred tables and putting up wall hangings.

She heard stern voices through the entry into the dining hall, as did the others -- the dozen florists stood up to watch a half dozen soldiers enter the room. At the head of the group was Koval -- he was angry, and Deanna froze in shock upon recognizing that though he looked exactly the same, she could sense that this was a different person than the one who had come to Narviat's home the previous evening.

Her rising anxiety triggered an echo of the same from Jean-Luc. She turned her back on the soldiers and started to pick up some bits of paper the flowers had been wrapped in.  _Koval is here. I will try to get out a side door and come to you, do not approach the palace. I have the information in a pocket._ She took her armful of trash and followed one of the others toward the back of the hall -- there was an exit at the end of the corridor, outside which there was a place to dispose of the trash. 

She heard one of the soldiers ordering people to come to them, but she slipped into the corridor and as the woman in front of her did, started to run for the door at the opposite end, her soft-soled shoes barely making any sound. She heard another angry shout as she left the building and pitched the trash in the direction of the receptacle, then turned to follow the other decorator, who was also drably dressed and had a similar hair style. She rounded the corner onto the broad avenue in front of the Imperial Palace and stopped running; as she strolled along she took off the coat, turned it inside out so the red-and-black lining was the outer shell, and shrugged back into it. With her right hand she felt under the back of her hair for the clip and removed it, letting some of the remaining hair extensions fall free from where Arja had tucked them out of sight, so now she was no longer a drab drudge but a well-to-do Romulan citizen. The avenue was not very busy at the moment and none of the other pedestrians reacted visibly to her changes. 

Except for one fellow, who approached from the other direction. He was tall, and had the typical short straight-edged bob of a soldier, but wore civilian clothing. The man watched her as they closed the distance between them at a sedate pace. Behind her, she heard people shouting -- the stern baritone of a soldier, and a high-pitched, panicked denial of someone else trying to get away from them. 

The tall man reached her, and looked over her head at what was going on -- then he turned and dropped his arm across her shoulders and walked with her, as if nothing at all were happening. Stunned, she walked and let him do it, recognizing him -- she sensed and had not a shred of doubt that this was Tom Glendenning, the man she had trained with for four weeks, every day, sometimes for six hours straight. 

"You have the module?" he said very softly in Catellan.

She nodded once. There were a lot of questions, but there were too many people around to ask in any language. 

They walked to the end of the street and turned the corner. There was a great deal of emotional turmoil behind her, but so far she hadn't sensed anyone in pain or dying. They were likely searching all of the staff in the palace; she must have tripped a silent alarm, or possibly been caught by a motion sensor leaving the office. At the end of the block on the narrower street they turned yet another corner into a back alley where Jean-Luc waited with Tet. 

"Who is this?" Jean-Luc exclaimed in Romulan, rushing up to her the minute they came into view and he saw Tom's arm around her.

"Karval," Tom said, letting his arm drop. "A friend." He was looking not at Jean-Luc but at Tet, who was suddenly afraid. Deanna said nothing and did her best to act as if nothing were wrong.

"A friend of whom?" Jean-Luc crossed his arms. He wasn't too worked up, as he could see Deanna was not reacting adversely to 'Karval' but he was suspicious.

"We should head to House t'Aimne," Tom said. His voice was distorted -- deeper, not at all like the voice of the starship captain she'd sparred with on the holodeck. "Where we can debrief safely."

"What's the word?" Deanna said very, very quietly in Standard.

Tom nodded approvingly. "Swan."

"You gave it to someone," she said, unable to refrain from answering the question that now occupied her and flooded her with anxiety. "That wasn't Koval last night. It was someone else who looked like him, who was also Tal Shiar. You changed the mission. Why?"

A shout sounded closer now. Tet hurried to the other end of the ally, gesturing, and Deanna followed. Tom came along as did Jean-Luc. 

"At the house," Tom said, in Romulan. 

They turned the corner and walked up another street, heading uphill and away from the palace. Deanna could sense the soldiers -- the houses were being searched now. More soldiers were being deployed. 

Her heart pounded in her chest, and it was all she could do to not start to run, but she kept walking with them, and only started to really breathe again as they entered the gate and hurried up to the house where Tarel waited for them at the door. She smiled, and stepped out of the open door to hurry them inside.


	5. Chapter 5

"All went well, obviously," Narviat exclaimed as they filed into the sitting room from the foyer.

"No," Deanna said.

Jean-Luc had known she was upset by observing how stiffly she carried herself, the minute she and this strange Romulan had rounded the last corner into the alley. He watched her pace around the table, and everyone else stood in front of chairs they'd intended to sit in and watched her as well, as her agitation was obvious now. She went to the window at the far end of the room, which looked out across the grounds, and stood framed by the heavy forest green draperies that were parted so sunlight could enter the room.

"You came back alive," Tarel said, going to stand next to Deanna. "With the data you were sent to get."

"I came back because I ran and left a dozen innocent people to be searched for something they didn't have. Soldiers are terrorizing citizens as we speak because of my actions," she said, staring out at the lawn as if she could see as well as sense what was happening.

"You are doing what we are all trying to do -- take steps to find a way to peace, and replacing the Empire with a more equitable government," Narviat said.

"I suppose that means you won't be seeking a career in intelligence work," Karval said, sounding amused. In Standard.

Deanna spun about and came away from the window. " _Why are you here?"  
_

The intensity of her anger startled their hosts, and Tarel took a step backward from her. Jean-Luc, standing next to Karval, studied the Romulan with narrowed eyes. Deanna didn't give anyone else a chance to ask another question; she moved toward the newcomer. The servants hung back near the door. 

"Obviously something changed," Karval said. "After you left Federation space, I was sent to intercept and communicate the changes to you, before you caused an incident that triggered a war. At this time, with relations between the Empire and the Federation being so tense, that likely would have been the end result -- I understand your feelings about what happened today but a few houses searched and a few hundred people being frightened is preferable to millions more dead, is it not?"

"You were not the imposter Koval who came to us last night. But it was obviously someone you control. You have someone in the Tal Shiar," she exclaimed, "someone who impersonates him. Koval was there today and I could tell he was not the same man."

"What??" Narviat blurted. "What are you saying?"

"That it was not Koval who came to the door. That this is not a Romulan." She turned from Narviat to glare at Karval. "We were sent here to do a job and you disrupted it," she shouted. 

"You used the wrong module, or this outcome you are angry about would not have happened," he shot back. It was a peculiar argument, when Deanna was scolding in Romulan and he was responding in Standard. "I told you -- and perhaps the man I sent last night did not communicate it well enough, that the security codes have changed and the program had to be altered to avoid detection. The only thing that saved you was the cover you chose, and I'll give you a lot of credit for that, shows you think on your feet."

"Are you saying that even though she used the wrong one, that war is not imminent?" Jean-Luc put in quietly. He hoped his own calm would balance Deanna, who was clearly so angry she wasn't able to be her usual calm self -- coming off an intense mission could leave an officer in a state of high anxiety, as she knew very well, but she needed someone else to help her get back from it.

Karval gave him a sharp glance. "She wasn't caught and exposed, and there was nothing in the program to give away that the Federation had anything to do with the breach. While they are not fond of the Federation, the current government does not want all-out war at this time -- like the Federation they are recovering from the Dominion War. But catching a Starfleet officer in the palace would lead to outrage and retaliation. We are, of course, not the only ones in the galaxy that the Empire is dealing with, so until they have proof of who to blame, I think this search in progress will be the only retaliation."

"Soldiers are approaching the house," Deanna announced with urgency. "We should appear to be preparing for the event later today."

That triggered a fast but careful deployment -- Karval was given the role of a guest to the house, and sat down with Narviat in the parlor, while Tarel and Ael went to their rooms. Arja was tasked with restoring Deanna's more elaborate hair style and hopefully would have the hair extensions in place if a search was done, to further rebrand her from a florist to an upper-class daughter of House Aimne. Jean-Luc went with Tet to the front door when the inevitable happened. Telum went to the kitchen to prepare the midday meal.

Tet swung back the heavy door, to find four soldiers standing there. Jean-Luc gazed impassively over Tet's shoulder at the men. "Yes?" Tet said calmly.

"We are here to search the house," the soldier in the front said sternly. 

"We are here to defend the house," Jean-Luc replied. "You have no reason to search."

The soldier clearly hadn't expected that response. Tet sidestepped out from between them. "I will get him," he said to Jean-Luc.

"Your name," the soldier said, trying to intimidate.

"Irrelevant."

Narviat and Karval came out of the parlor, and the soldier's demeanor changed -- all four of them straightened stiffly, watching the men approaching. "What's this about?" Karval said coolly. Narviat shot him a startled glance.

"We are here to search the house," the soldier said, his nervousness obvious. "We are looking for a traitor."

"Well, you can look somewhere else. We don't have one of those here." Karval turned his back as if the matter had been settled.

When the soldier took a step forward, Jean-Luc took two and blocked the door. They faced off for a few seconds; Narviat cleared his throat, and Jean-Luc heard his footsteps as he moved over to stand behind Erket, the staunch security officer of House Aimne. 

"A formality," the soldier said, less insistent. 

"Ridiculous," Narviat spat. "I was a subcommander in the Tal Shiar."

Karval turned back and stared at the soldier now as if he were a predator looking at a particularly interesting meal. 

The soldier bowed slightly and turned around, and sent his three companions ahead of him down the walk. Jean-Luc slammed the door loudly.

"We should leave," Narviat said, as Jean-Luc turned around. "We should all depart and not come back."

"You mean defection," Karval said. "Is there anyone who will think it odd that you don't appear at the event? 

"Perhaps, but I can send a message to our son, who will be there with his family, and he can inform anyone who asks that I suddenly took ill." Narviat turned as footfalls echoed down the hall; Tarel, Ael and Arja returned, and the two ladies of the house were in fine clothing. "It would not be a surprise to anyone. I was diagnosed with a heart condition last year."

"Stop," Jean-Luc said firmly. The first real order he'd given since the mission started, and the change of tone made an impact -- everyone turned to look at him. He noticed Deanna straighten up slightly out of reflex. "Is there anyone approaching the house?"

"No," Deanna said. She was probably hypervigilant, on constant alert. An unsustainable state -- she was likely still coming down from the mission but they were not safe, would not be for some time, and she would eventually exhaust herself.

"We should discuss this then. What to do now. Because taking three or four people out of the Empire is a different matter than getting ten people out."

"Ten? What math did you learn?" Karval asked.

"Tyreen," Deanna said. The lack of more detailed explanations said that this was Glendenning, as he thought it probably was from the conversation since Karval had showed up at the house.

And Karval's response, a smirk, was icing on the cake. It was strange to see a Glendenning facial expression on a Romulan face. Jean-Luc thought he might explain how it wouldn't be possible, but he stared at the tiles at his feet for a few seconds, then pointed. "Ael, if you would stand there? And Erket you can back up three steps. You can stand right there," he said, waving his finger at Tet. Out of curiosity everyone obeyed, leaving the four of them standing on corners of a large rectangular section of square tiles. "If you think we'll be comfortable riding for a day in a space this big I can get us out of here in five minutes."

"To where?" Narviat said sharply.

"To a cloaked vessel in orbit. I can take us to rendezvous point on the other side of the Neutral Zone within half a day, signal for pickup. We then have more living space on the way to a larger Starfleet vessel."

Deanna turned to Jean-Luc with an intense look and waited for him to speak. Glendenning wasn't lying, then.

"Can you beam us up at any time?" Jean-Luc asked. "From anywhere?"

"You want to retrieve Tyreen," Glendenning said. "Should we go there or bring her here, is the question. We should go. The longer we are here on this planet the higher the risk of being apprehended."

"Then Narviat needs to be ready for the event, and we will walk together to her house -- anyone who sees us can assume we are going to the event with her," Tarel said.

"We take nothing but what you would take to the event," Glendenning said.

Narviat, Tarel and their servants turned almost as one to Deanna, who took a deep, deep breath and began to shake her head. "We need to go now," she said. "I've been tracking the soldier who came to the door. I think he told his superior and now he feels a great deal of satisfaction -- I would anticipate that means he's on his way back to deal with the people who frustrated him when he was here."

Jean-Luc turned to open the door. Everyone was almost shoving him outside. Glendenning had to remind them all to relax and not look like they were running for their lives.

The afternoon was a bright and sunny one. Jean-Luc fell behind the group; Narviat and "Karval" led the group, with Tarel and Deanna behind them, the three servants in a close orbit and Erket striding along with his head high on guard for anything. The walk to the gate was thankfully short; Tarel rang the house as before and they were allowed in, climbing as quickly as they could up the path to Tyreen's house.

Darani was upset by the crowd on his doorstep, from his expression, but he let them in. Tyreen arrived, wearing a wrap and studying the group with a frown.

"Something has happened -- if you wish to go, we need to leave now," Deanna said.

"I see. Darani, get my bag," she said imperiously.

The servant ran to do so. While he was gone, Glendenning had Jean-Luc and Tet take up two corner tiles, and Tarel and Narviat moved to the other corners without needing direction. Tyreen watched with raised eyebrow and moved within the space on the tile floor. Darani returned with a bag slung over one shoulder. He joined his mistress, and not ten seconds later, as Glendenning stepped inside the designated space, there was a hammering on the door as someone rang for entry.

"Now, Tom," Deanna said, a note of urgency finally showing up in her voice.

He did something -- it wasn't clear what, and Jean-Luc's line of sight was blocked by Arja and Telum who stood in front of him -- and a transporter beam started as someone hammered on the door again.

They materialized in a shuttle, similar to a Starfleet runabout but smaller. "Computer, maximum speed to the coordinates," Tom ordered, pushing his way to the cockpit. He sat in the one chair and glanced over his shoulder. "You may as well get as comfortable as you can. This will take a few hours."

Some shuffling about occurred. Jean-Luc set his back against the wall of the shuttle and slid to the floor, crossing his legs, and Deanna sidled past Tet to do the same, leaning on him; he put an arm around her and let her drape herself against his shoulder. He watched Narviat settle against the wall opposite, and Tarel sat with Tyreen on her right; the servants all settled at the back of the compartment quietly.

After a long silence, most of them contemplating the floor while deep in thought, someone started to cry.

Jean-Luc glanced at the back of Glendenning's head. The man sat upright and stared at the viewscreen, unmoving. He thought Deanna might say something but she lay limp against him, and he realized she was asleep. He closed his eyes, deciding that dealing with second thoughts about defection could wait.


	6. Chapter 6

Deanna woke again to find they were still seated on the floor in the shuttle, everyone quiet. Arja was mourning, probably about leaving some loved one on Romulus. There was a lot of thinking going on in the people around her. Except for the man at the helm -- Glendenning was in a determined, almost regretful mood. Now that there was time, she thought about the pattern of his emotions and his words since he walked up to her on the street. It struck her that there were things he hadn't told them yet -- she particularly wanted to understand why the bitterness. There was still the peculiar sense of him that made her think he had brain damage, but now there was more feeling in him than before. He'd been almost unreadable by comparison while they were in training but the emotions he felt now were flowing unchecked.

Jean-Luc shifted slightly, and she realized that she had settled with her arm across his stomach and was practically using him as a bed. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, noting she wasn't flinching as she had before as her fingers found the pronounced brow ridge. The sound of a footstep drew her attention to the back of the shuttle. Tarel was coming out of the door at the back, clearly the washroom. Any shuttle no matter how small would have one, of course. She returned to her spot against the wall opposite, slid down to sit with Narviat.

Deanna started to consider their situation -- the air in the compartment was going stale. The absence of chairs other than the one Tom was using and the poor ventilation said that this was likely intended to be a one-person vessel. Which further demonstrated that it wasn't Starfleet; there had to be at least two officers on any given mission, per the changes in protocol after too many incidents where one officer had gotten into trouble. And the transport process had been markedly different -- there were no obvious transporter pads present. It led her to question but with a room full of Romulans, it was a bad time to ask Glendenning what all of this meant.

"Where will we be sent?" Tet asked, breaking the silence. 

"After you answer some questions, you will likely be able to go wherever you want," Jean-Luc said. "The Federation is a big place, and there will be those who might have a few negative feelings toward you, but you will have the same rights as anyone else in the Federation once you are an official expatriate of the Empire and an application to be a citizen of the Federation is filed."

"There will be some help available to you, if there are too many choices to make," Deanna said. "I could make some inquiries on your behalf -- Betazed would welcome you."

 Surprise all around -- and it occurred to her then that this was a good opportunity to begin the process of helping them leave the Empire mentally, which would take much longer for them to do than simply traveling into the Federation. Tom, sitting at the helm unmoving, was dubious, feeling a little trepidation at her suggestion. She decided to focus on the refugees rather than on him.

"If you have questions this is a good time to ask," she said. "Since we have nothing else to do."

"We could live on Betazed," Tarel echoed. "Tell me more about that world. We know very little."

"It's my home world," Deanna said. "We have a growing population of non-Betazoids. We're one of the more accepting of Federation species."

"Telepaths," Narviat said. Not in a defensive way, more affirming what he had suspected. "Where are M'Ret and his aides living?"

The jolt of emotion -- surprise, and wariness -- from Telum gave Deanna a reason to pause, and reword her answer. "I was told they are on one of the colonies," she said, speaking a partial truth -- the vague answer was one she'd been told to use while on the mission. "I was not told which one."

Now Jean-Luc sat up a little straighter, as he registered the deflection that should not have been necessary now that they had left Romulus. He would no doubt understand that she had sensed something that put her on guard. 

"Would we be able to join them?" Narviat turned to look past Tarel and Tet, at Tyreen and Darani sitting together in the back corner. Tyreen was watching Deanna with some interest.

"Of course. As we said, you can go anywhere in the Federation once you are cleared to do so. And you can have replicators programmed with your favorite foods, wherever you are."

"Has the Romulan government ever tried to get anyone back?" Tyreen asked, suddenly.

Deanna looked at Jean-Luc. He didn't know either. She was about to say as much when Tom turned his chair around, startling them as he hadn't moved much at all. "No," he said. 

"When will I be able to contact M'Ret? I want to let him know I am coming." Tyreen was being cool, composed, but she had been suppressing high anxiety since they'd showed up in her house.

"When we are aboard a Federation vessel," Tom replied smoothly. "This is a utility vessel I stole from a mining company near Remus and retrofitted with a cloaking device. Anything I do with the comms will be picked up immediately. We're a couple of days minimum from getting back to a Federation starship."

"Are we going to be able to stay cloaked for that long?" Jean-Luc asked, alarmed. 

"No. Which is why we're going to Seldavo."

Narviat sat straight up off the wall at the drop of the name. "Seldavo," he exclaimed, as if hearing something quite sobering and worrisome. Deanna knew why -- the planet was minimally terraformed, one of the richest sources of metals that the Empire used in the construction of their warbirds, and also one of the places the black market thrived.

"I know," Tom said. "We're not going to make it to the Neutral Zone in this tub and it's the one place I have a chance of finding something better. We have to find something faster and with a better comm system. This thing can't do much, it would need hours of work to get the system up to the task of sending a signal more than a quarter parsec -- it works on a narrow band and we aren't going to be able to get a signal to  _Phoenix_ with it."

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?" Deanna asked. His starship had been destined for a tour of the outskirts of the Breen Confederacy, he'd said before.

"Supposed to, but you know, something told me there would be something to do on Romulus. What you don't know you avoided hasn't been discussed yet. And I told Tessora before I warped over here that I was doing it, and why," Tom said. His voice was his own, suddenly, no longer the deeper baritone with a slight fuzz to it. 

"What we don't know we avoided -- what are you talking about?" Jean-Luc asked. Deanna could tell that if he had not, Narviat would have asked.

"When you went to House Nai, to talk to her," he waved in Tyreen's direction, "you were picked up on a listening device. They've been watching you since your husband left, ma'am. Waiting for you to try to join him, or communicate with him."

"Why would they? Why would anyone care," Tyreen said, frowning. "I have never been in the military. I have never done anything for or against anyone in the government."

"But you are connected to a traitor who some in the current regime would like to see executed for giving the Federation the information that has led to breaches in security within the Empire," Tom said. "And one of the promises made to your husband was that an effort would be made to bring you to him, if you wanted to go. There was an agent in your house at the time who was aware of this, who has since turned informant."

"I have only had Darani with me for that reason," Tyreen replied coldly; thinking of the traitor made her angry. "Darani warned me of that man's sympathies. It's been too often that our employees see disloyalty to us as a way of gaining favors or payment -- while I understand that some families would do anything to feed and clothe their children, I did nothing to him other than pay him well. And I have warned some others at times that payment promised is not always payment received. It would not surprise me if instead of payment the Tal Shiar deals out death to the poor ones they use."

Deanna had practice in not looking at people or overtly reacting when they had extreme emotional reactions, which was the only thing that saved her from doing so when Telum suffered his moment of shock and fear. Instead, she slowly stood up, facing Tom as she did so. "You are saying that when we spoke to Tyreen someone heard us. And?"

He had a sad smile, on his Romulan persona's face. "There was an immediate reaction -- the security codes were changed. And I had to get you the changed software to avoid your sounding the alarm during the event, because of course they knew you had a five day timeline and might not make it to meet with her as planned, which suggested you had other plans afoot. The fellow who came to your house in Koval's face, I had him do that because it sent a few Tal Shiar into a tail spin, they'd set a watch on the house. Having Koval march up to the front door and then leave again with a smile and at ease with the world sent them scurrying off to the palace."

"It also left us reeling and wondering what Koval was doing," Narviat exclaimed, angry. 

"Well, perhaps I thought it was more important that the Tal Shiar agents weren't moving in to take you into custody," Tom said, crossing his arms. "And I knew you would go on alert -- that was part of the point of it. Get you to be more wary. The searches prior to the event were part of the increased alert response, and then the security at the event would have been even worse. So going in early was a good plan." 

"Where were you that you were not able to deliver the message yourself?" Jean-Luc asked. He remained seated on the floor, at the front of the cabin to the right of Tom's chair, almost in the corner.

"Trying to acquire information to help. Networking, you could say. This identity had connections with the Tal Shiar and one of the proconsuls, I worked it as hard as I could. No doubt I won't be using it again, after they put the pieces together Karval won't be able to set foot within the Empire and stay alive." Tom leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "You're damned lucky, we came too close to being caught. Even if you had not tripped the alarm in the system, they would have been going house to house anyway, after Koval realized someone borrowed his face."

"Are you imagining that we're going to be any safer on Seldavo?" Tarel said.

"No, and we have very little to work with. But, I might be able to swing us a better vessel quickly enough that we can get away again. I'll need a little help. Erket, are you feeling up to a good fight?"

"Why would we want that kind of attention?" Jean-Luc hated fighting.

"Because your girlfriend will get herself into some trouble and you need to defend her. And while the rest of the crew goes to help Narviat will break the security on the computer of a vessel for us, so we can get off the pocked little rock that is Seldavo as fast as possible. We'll have to pick a well-armed one, they'll send someone after us. After we land I'll yank the cloak out of the wall and if there's not one in the new ship it gets installed."

"This doesn't sound like a good plan," Tet said. 

"It's not, but unless you have a brother with a ship sitting in the yards on Seldavo, we're all out of plans," Tom said. 

"I have a sister," Tarel announced.

Everyone in the compartment turned to look at her. Narviat chuckled. "Toreth wouldn't help us," he said chidingly. "She may not be military any longer but you know better."

"She wouldn't help us take Federation spies out of the Empire but she might help you and I, if we were honest in telling her we want to leave," Tarel said. "She has become bitter enough about the current state of our government that even if she wouldn't go herself, she might give us a shuttle. One with a replicator."

"Do you honestly think she would? And if she didn't, would she then let you go again, without reporting you?" Deanna asked.

"If asking has a chance of working, stealing can be a fallback plan," Tom said. 

"What happened to the actual plan? The one where we had a set way back into Federation space waiting for us?" Narviat asked, as if he'd intended to go with them all along.

Tom looked impassive, but Deanna could tell this was part of what he didn't want to talk about. Some of his answers had been feints away from really fully explaining things, she could sense that much, but with all the Romulans in the room she understood why. She moved her arm, pointed her right thumb slightly, using the body language of the Tal Shiar -- hoping Telum wouldn't see it or recognize it. She sensed Tom's recognition, and also Narviat had noticed; he now watched her with sober eyes. Tom shrugged, looking around the room, and finally answered. 

"The actual escape plan ended when the vessel that was supposed to be there for us got orders to go somewhere else. If I didn't know better I'd think that was a sign we had a double agent among us," he lied, blatantly, finally glancing at Deanna.

Telum didn't move, but she sensed the guilt. Tet and Arja were frightened, Tarel less so but Narviat was becoming angry. He too had noticed Tom's slight movement of the head that indicated what he was saying was intentionally false.

"So where are we heading on Seldavo? We're about half an hour away." Tom turned back to the helm.

By the time they dropped out of warp, Deanna felt like she might burst out of her skin. The anxiety in the vessel only rose as they approached the planet. She sat down again and hugged her knees, and tried to block everyone else out. 

Tarel joined Tom at the console, and contacted the authorities -- shortly after they were landing the shuttle. Everyone came to their feet, stiff from the long ride in awkward positions, but Tom gave Tarel a communicator and sent her forth with Narviat. He stood in the open door, fended off a couple of personnel from the shipyard they landed in, and waited. 

It felt like forever. Deanna closed her eyes and enjoyed the fresh air. 

"All right?" Jean-Luc murmured, in Standard. They had been speaking in Romulan so much that it felt odd to hear it.

"Yes." She wasn't going to say anything else while Telum was present.  _Telum is a spy. He will report everything he hears._

_I wondered about that._

After too long in silence, Deanna opened her eyes and sat up. Tyreen was resting as well, and Darani seemed to be keeping watch. Arja was less upset but still preoccupied, a worried look on her face as she hugged herself and slumped against the wall between Telum and Tet. 

"I should have gone with them," Tet said at long last. "Something must have happened."

"They're coming back, with someone," Tom said. "Wait."

After a few minutes he backed out of the door, and Tarel came in. From her mood Deanna could tell she'd been successful. "Come with me."

Deanna followed her, and everyone else followed them. Tom was right behind her and Jean-Luc with him. They walked the short distance across the landing pad to a larger vessel, neither a shuttle nor a full-sized starship, something in between, but large enough that they would have cabins, doors, more room to feel freer than before.

Too short a time in the open air, she thought, as they passed in the open door and into a large space in the bottom of the vessel. Toreth stood with Narviat in the center of the room. She looked very different -- no longer as lean, and gray in her shoulder-length hair. Civilian clothes and not angry as she had been when Deanna had been spirited away on her warbird. Now that Tarel and Toreth were side by side, the slight resemblance was obvious.

"You are certain you wish to do this," Toreth said as her sister approached her.

"We can't stay. It's become too dangerous," Tarel said. "And Tyreen deserves to be with her husband -- she's endured far too much."

Deanna stepped aside as Tyreen caught up to them, and watched the older woman slowly join the other two; Toreth clearly knew her, and reached out to take her hands. "I hope you are not being deceived," Toreth said, with sincerity and concern.

"I am no longer satisfied to watch my world tear itself apart," Tyreen said in a faltering, despairing voice. "I would rather die taking the risk to find M'Ret than continue to watch the slow death of the Empire. Thank you for helping us,  _tetya_."

"I know you haven't been happy. Come with us," Tarel said in a low voice. 

Toreth shook her head. "I cannot. I doubt the Federation has a place for someone who attempted to kill one of their agents."

"You might be surprised. You met Spock -- you heard what he had to say." Narviat gave her a conciliatory smile. "Knowing what you know now, would you have helped M'Ret defect, given the choice?"

Deanna watched Toreth's face -- it barely betrayed the feelings that question engendered. She glanced at Tom -- he was watching the scene from the door, which he'd closed behind him. She went with her gut feeling and hoped it would not end badly.

"You would have a place in the Federation," she said.

The others didn't understand the sudden change in Toreth -- she went rigid, her eyes burning, and she took two steps forward. Tom moved across from the door so fast that it caused another shock wave -- startled Toreth to stillness again. She turned wary, then started to think about the situation again.

"You," she began, intense. Then went on with less anger. "What are you doing here?"

"Making amends," Deanna said. "Trying to apologize to you, at the moment, because I would have appreciated the chance to be honest with you, before. But I was not aboard your vessel of my own will, and knowing no one, I did my best to minimize injury while not exposing myself."

"What do you mean?" Toreth demanded. "Not of your own will?"

"We are not blessed with time," Tom put in calmly. "I'd expect Telum will have a tracking device and that someone is on the way."

Telum darted for the door -- Tom's arm flashed up and the shorter man was dangling in the air by his throat. Narviat was there in an instant, searching pockets, and came away with a device. He spat something angry and out of Deanna's vocabulary -- curse words had obviously not been included in Tom's lesson.

Toreth took a few more steps forward and stared at Deanna, who did her best not to move or give away that she was afraid. "You have a better costume this time," she said at last. "And a better accent."

"I am not lying," Deanna said. "The Federation would have a place for you. Even if you had no information to give. Asylum seekers have always been welcome, regardless of political standing with their home world."

"If Telum gave us away," Tarel cried, watching Tom carry the spy toward a door at the back of the room. Narviat brought the heel of his boot down on the device with a satisfying crunch. He picked up the remnants and went to the alcove at the other side of the room, presumably to dispose of it. "Toreth, come with us. Please don't endanger your life."

Toreth heaved a great sigh. "That is already done. Helping you all to escape will accomplish that -- at least I have some small choice, this time, instead of being forced to the ends of others. So if I am forever gone from the Empire I served all my life, so be it."

"That may not be the case -- if we are able to forge a truce with the Empire, you may yet return," Deanna said. 

"A funny way to make peace, sending agents into the Empire," she snapped with a twisted smile. 

Tom came back into the room and marched through them, weaving toward the front of the ship. "I stuffed him in a closet. Ready to go?"

"You will need the codes," Toreth said, following him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relevant episodes: TNG Face of the Enemy

Jean-Luc made his way to the small galley at last, thankful they were under way with more facilities than they'd had on the small shuttle. They were making better time, running under cloak, but Tom estimated they had at least half a day of travel before they were in Federation space, largely due to the course he had plotted to avoid Romulan space stations. Rather than overtly questioning his apparent intel on Romulan facilities and patrols, he'd accepted it at face value as he had so many troubling things on this adventure -- he hesitated in calling it a mission any longer.

Everything had gone off plan. All the careful preparation had been useful ultimately, but he disliked relying entirely upon Deanna's sense of people for a mission and yet there was nothing left absent reliable information to guide them.

He found the small galley empty but for Toreth. He thought everyone else would have come and gone, but she sat in the corner with a beverage, and as he came in her dark eyes flicked up and her expression showed her frustrated tolerance of the situation. "Erket," she said by way of greeting. "Make yourself at home." She gestured at the replicator.

He went over and asked for coffee. In Romulan -- it wasn't coffee, but it was a beverage that held the same popularity in Romulan culture, and it was more bitter and had more kick than coffee. He asked for one of the Romulan dishes that he had enjoyed at Narviat's house, and brought it over and sat down across from her, instead of at the second, empty table.

"Humans don't usually like it," she said, with a brittle, amused smile.

"Humans are variable and unpredictable - the only consistency we have is in our variety," he replied. "One could sum up the entire history of wars and conflicts within humanity by saying we are a species who struggle with differences historically, but now struggle with helping others see past the differences to harmony."

She laughed curtly. "This sentiment has been offered before. In different words. Usually it's made with sincerity, but I do wonder if it's every Starfleet officer's true belief."

"It isn't. I didn't say that we had resolved all our differences with each other. We're simply handling those differences in a less conflicted and damaging manner. Which is all the Federation requires of its members."

"I am about to be the last person in the Empire you need to convince, you know." She picked up her cup and drank.

"I wasn't aware that I was attempting to convince you of anything -- one can converse without having an agenda, after all."

She offered no response to that, but watched him take a bite of the vinerine, then another. "You like our food," she half-questioned.

"Some of it is quite good. Vinerine reminds me of a similar Vulcan dish that I have enjoyed."

Toreth looked tired. She wore a heavy black coat over a gray shirt, and while her hair was not in the blunt military style it was shorter than Tarel's. "I have never tried Vulcan food. Narviat tells me that it suits the Romulan palate."

"You know of his affiliations," Jean-Luc said, hesitating to mention Spock by name.

"I have met Spock," she said, surprising him. Deanna had described her as a loyal ship commander with a disdain for the Tal Shiar. He knew the political climate in the Empire had been changing, but this suggested the changes were more system-wide than he'd thought, for a loyal soldier to meet with a man supporting radical changes to Romulan society.

"Spock is a great man," he said, thinking of his long history in Starfleet and the role he'd had in diplomatic efforts after his time as an officer had concluded. "I may not entirely understand his vision, but I can respect it."

"Do you follow your orders, or your principles?" she asked, making him wonder what was behind such a question.

"Both. I have ignored orders that conflict with the spirit of Federation principles, and I have occasionally followed orders and later realized that there were complexities of principle that I failed to recognize."

Her delicately-shaped brows came together slightly. "If only it were so simple as following orders. I would not find myself commiserating with a Starfleet officer. How do you know Ael? Which of you is in command of this mission, or are you subordinates of Karval?"

"Karval and I are both captains. Ael is under my command."

"Are you aware of her previous endeavors within the Empire?" Toreth's tone made it sound like the trivial curiosity that he knew it was not.

"I am. I was her superior officer when she was taken against her will and without my knowledge, and placed there."

Both her brows twitched as he said it. "How did she get there, then?"

"It's unclear to either of us -- she was taken from a conference at a Federation facility and then awakened aboard your vessel, so the transition was sudden and unexpected for her. She does not know who or how, and dealt with an officer who was killed on your bridge, so was unable to ask afterward for the particulars of how she was taken. It could have been a Romulan agent in the underground, or it could have been one of our own who was acting outside the auspices and awareness of Starfleet."

Toreth heaved a great sigh, and looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping the table and finally picking up her drink again. "I expect that I would not have trusted her if she had explained, but if our positions had been reversed, I doubt that you would either. However, at this time, I see no reason to mistrust your assertion."

"I dislike very much this sort of work -- it would be preferable, in my opinion, to approach with open hands, without deceit, as any relationship of any scale does not benefit from manipulation and deceit. But reducing the likelihood of war, when both the Empire and the Federation are recovering following the Dominion war, makes it less objectionable."

Toreth stared at him with her neutral expression. "Is she a good officer? Has she disobeyed your orders?"

"She is a good officer. But she does more than follow orders, she understands complexities of situations that develop. Sometimes I rely on her judgment."

"Is this one of those times?"

He put down the cup of bitter brew, and scooped up the last bite of vinerine. "She is good at reading people. She respects you which led me to hold my tongue, rather than object when Tarel suggested contacting you. Typically, Romulan soldiers default to loyalty without exception, and absent evidence to the contrary I tend to default to not trusting them completely, withholding judgment until I have evidence either way."

"So you failed to save me from defection," she said with more amusement.

"I'm sorry, Commander," he said, rising to return his dishes for recycling. He headed for the door. "I'm going to a martial arts demonstration, if you'd like to join me."

Curiosity killed the Romulan, he thought, as he made his way below to the large storage area and Toreth followed him. He could hear the impacts of feet and fists on the final approach, as they entered the room. Just in time to watch Tom rushing at Deanna -- she was wearing a gi and the hair extensions had been removed, and so she was able to react unhindered by clothing or long hair. As Toreth came in behind Jean-Luc, Tom flew through the air and landed in a heap on the floor. He laughed and bounded back up again.

"Better," he exclaimed happily as Deanna turned on a heel to face him, arms raised and knees bent, waiting for his next attack.

"You are practicing _Llaekh-ae'rl_ ," Toreth said, surprised. 

Deanna didn't take her eyes off Tom, who moved around her. "I'm enjoying learning it," she said as Tom bounced two steps forward and got himself thrown over her shoulder, turning in the air and landing on his feet.

"I wonder if you are proficient enough to take two at a time," Tarel said from the far end of the room. She and Narviat were watching. Jean-Luc moved to his left, into the corner, and leaned against the wall out of the way.

"I'd lay odds on it," Tom said, coming up from the floor holding his elbow. He shook it off and romped over -- he threw a wicked-looking punch, dodging at the last second, but Deanna was already in motion to slip under the punch, changing directions with him to grab the front of his shirt and swing him in his own direction of movement so he impacted the wall hard.

"Two Romulans?" Tarel said, stepping forward. She pointed across the room at Toreth with her chin. Her smile said mischief, not malice.

Jean-Luc almost objected, but Deanna's answering smile said she was not at all upset by this suggestion, or that Toreth moved in concert with her sister around the Betazoid. The sisters had to both be proficient themselves; they had also obviously practiced together. They moved in, and Deanna evaded both of them. Then the three women circled each other in tight orbits, feinting and lunging, and occasionally laughing as one or the other was thrown to the floor.

"She's really good," Tom said quietly, sidling over to stand with Jean-Luc.

"I need no convincing."

"I see Toreth is loosening up a little."

Jean-Luc looked at Tom; he seemed impassive, watching the sparring. "When are you going to tell us what really happened, that brought you in to find us? Was this a sanctioned visit or are you here on your own? Because you shouldn't have to steal equipment, under normal circumstances."

Tom chuckled, sidling another step closer before he replied. "It's true. Under normal circumstances Starfleet could scramble up at least some decommissioned old Romulan cargo whatever. We might even have managed to insert a record to make it look like it had a legitimate registry in their records. But I had to get here faster than that."

"She didn't use your software. We still got out. Though it would have taken us longer to leave, increasing the likelihood of being apprehended, we still had a chance. So why are you here?"

Tom watched Deanna helping Tarel to her feet. "To help."

"I am reasonably certain you know how many impossible situations she and I have found our way out of -- you are here because it was beyond impossible, into something we couldn't predict and were not prepared to handle," he said very, very quietly, too aware of the two pairs of Romulan ears in the room. "And I suspect that you did not have orders. So I ask the question again."

"Starfleet trains us to save lives. Who am I to go against expectations?" Tom watched Deanna toss Tarel to the floor and leaped forward. Of course, Deanna sensed the attacker and turned to dodge him then trip and fling him in a different direction.

Jean-Luc crossed his arms and watched the sparring until Deanna called a halt, crying weariness and wanting to have something to eat; that led all of them to gather in the galley. Breaking bread together was an almost universal bonding ritual, that very few cultures did not have in common with humanity. The chatting wandered through a few questions about other martial arts; apparently despite centuries of hostility with the Klingons, some Romulans were aware of mok'bara and somewhat familiar with it, which made sense if there had been hand-to-hand combat between the Klingons and Romulans at some point.

Narviat had his back turned, getting something out of the replicator. Tom had gone to the helm to check on Tet, whom he'd left there to sound the alert if anything showed up on sensors. Deanna started to eat the food she'd gotten -- vinerine, which she too had enjoyed at the dinner at Narviat's home, and Tarel came back with a plate of the same thing.

Toreth started to laugh, unexpectedly. Tarel stopped with her utensil in the air over her plate to look at her sister, and Deanna paused in eating to do the same, then smiled.

"You didn't know what it was," Toreth said. Jean-Luc knew that she referred to a meal on her warbird, when Deanna had been masquerading as an officer in the Tal Shiar. Deanna had told him the story.

"I did try some, after I got home," Deanna said. "But it was not this good."

"You will have to give us an orientation to Earth cuisine, when we are able," Tarel said. "Or Betazoid."

"Vinerine reminds me of hasperat, which is Bajoran," Deanna said. "Neither is as spicy as oskoid, which is my mother's favorite dish."

Narviat came to the table, sat between his wife and Jean-Luc, and looked around the table. He seemed to be uninterested in talk of food, refocused on his dish and didn't smile as he had during the sparring. The others noticed his sobriety and fell quiet. Jean-Luc suspected it was starting to sink in, that they were leaving the Empire and it was not revocable, and now that survival seemed certain the prospect of life without his home had started to feel real.

"I'm going to the bridge," he said, rising to edge around the table and head for the door.

At the front of the small ship, the corridor dropped down a few stairs into the narrow cockpit through a door. He made it to the stop of the stairs and saw Tom leaving the cockpit, closing the door and coming up to him, and so he backed down the corridor slightly to make room.

"We're at a dangerous place in the journey," he murmured. "They're starting to feel the reality of leaving forever, of being in the Federation potentially for the rest of their lives."

"Bound to happen. I disabled all the comms throughout except for the station in the cockpit. M'Ret went through something similar, after he left, but since he woke already across the border in Federation hands, he had no opportunity to change his mind."

"Tom," Jean-Luc said, hoping, asking with his eyes.

The Romulan face makeup didn't conceal the weariness in Tom's face. "I didn't think it was fair to send you in the first place."

"Fair?"

"There is a difference between working your way into some facility then back out, and infiltrating Romulan society for an extended period, behaving like a citizen of the Empire," Tom said. "I thought that lobbying to send you in with her would result in her being pulled out of the mission entirely. I was ordered to prepare her, and I reported back to them that I thought her odds of returning with the goods increased if she went with you. It supported my original opinion, before I even came to train her, that sending an officer new to intelligence work was a poor idea for a delicate mission like this one. You're one of the seasoned officers they really need to have on your ship and doing the work you do, not someone they would want to lose, or so I assumed. Instead Tessora and the others agreed and implemented it anyway. Not what I expected."

"And because you disagreed you abandoned your post and came after us?"

"And because I'm right in doing this, they can't spank me," Tom said, straight-faced and sober. "Can't risk the rest of the 'fleet knowing they let one of their decorated veteran captains walk into a situation knowing full well what the odds really were, can't let the general public know."

"You might have retribution in other ways."

Tom shrugged and smiled smugly. "Maybe. Hard to hurt the reputation of a nobody. Court-martial me? They can try. That would lead to my talking about classified information in a courtroom in my own defense. Find something else to trump up charges about? Good luck, too much of my life is classified."

"I suppose, then, I owe you -- we do. Because it has been difficult."

"Let's go talk to them. If they're needing reassurance they should get it, or we'll find ourselves facing down a warbird shortly."

But as they approached the galley, Deanna came out. "I'm going to take a nap," she said. "Everything all right?"

"Yep, on course and making good time." Tom sidled past her and went into the galley.

Jean-Luc turned and walked with her, away from it, turning down the side corridor to the tiny cabin they would be using. Once inside with the door closed, Deanna sat on the edge of the bed that was too narrow for both of them and looked at him with tired eyes.

"He told me, a minute ago, that he came to help after we were sent on a mission that the admiral knew to be doomed from the start. I don't know if he was telling the whole truth."

"I was paying attention. He told you the truth, though I doubt that he told you everything. He would not unless he had to. I intend to have a frank conversation with him once we are all aboard a Starfleet vessel, and perhaps we can get the entire truth from him then." She lay down upon the bed, and watched him. "Are you joining me? You're as tired as I am."

"You'll sleep better if one of us isn't falling off. I'll sit here and keep watch. Not sure I'd sleep anyway."

She sighed, rolled on her side, and was asleep in seconds. Jean-Luc continued to ponder their situation, though he was certain that it was a futile endeavor. He was waiting, like all of them, and it remained to be seen how their new friends would behave in the hours prior to crossing the border into the Federation.


	8. Chapter 8

Deanna left the cabin, left Jean-Luc napping, and went toward the cockpit. She could sense only Tom in the front of the vessel; the others were either asleep or in the galley.

When she reached the bottom of the steps and stepped through the open door, he looked up from the panel in front of him. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. How much longer?" She responded in Standard.

"We're crossing the Neutral Zone. There has been, surprisingly, no mention of an escaping anyone, in the chatter in any of the usual military channels, nor has there been any bulletin in the shipping frequencies informing the civilian fleet to be on the lookout for Toreth's ship. I have been monitoring things for the past hour. There's nothing out of the ordinary here along the zone. I do believe that we have slipped out completely undetected."

Deanna turned to sit in the other chair. "So do you think that once we rendezvous with a Federation vessel and transfer to it, that Toreth and anyone who wants to return might be able to do that?"

"Oh, it might be possible. But you ask them. They may have had second thoughts and regrets, but I think you'll find that even Toreth knows what happens when someone comes back after a disappearance of any duration. The Empire survives on thorough questioning and investigating and if you aren't guilty you might be in one piece afterward."

"The Federation isn't trying to take over the Empire. We want peace. The Empire can survive forever, we simply want to survive too."

"Yes, but if you're in the Beta Quadrant, you don't trust anyone even if they say things like that." Tom glanced at the viewscreen. "You see that?"

Deanna looked -- there was a space station, made small by distance, sliding out of sight as the ship went by. "We're out of the Neutral Zone. That was one of the Federation stations."

"Indeed it was. We're going out farther on our side before we start making noise. I need a little time to tweak the transmitter to get a coded message out."

"Then I'll leave you to do that. Unless you want help?"

"Naw, I can handle it."

She stood up and turned for the door, then paused and closed her eyes.

"Something wrong, hon?"

The term of endearment was new. She knew he was tired, and actually relaxed. He felt some affection for her, which was not exactly new, but as often happened with humans, the longer they worked together the more affection he seemed to have.

"Why did you come to find us?"

"Well, that's a long story. And this is a bad place to talk about it." That was true, and he graced it with a sad smile. It was enough to reassure her that at least he had no ulterior motive in doing so.

"Are you Section 31?"

Because it was the last place in the galaxy he expected to hear the question, it shocked him -- but she was more concerned about the rest of his response.

"Yes and no," he said. "Which is the only honest thing any of us can say. Some of us are more yes than no. Some are not even aware that they are working for them."

"Are we Section 31?"

He sighed, almost moaning, his shoulders hunching slightly. "You and your captain are the least tainted people in the Federation. There aren't many who would be so useful yet escape manipulation."

Deanna thought about Shelby, and her fears of being used -- her warnings. "Has that changed, have we become more easily manipulated? Was your suggestion of his coming with me a manipulation?"

She waited while he contemplated his answer. He knew she could tell when he lied, but he was a master of deflection. He stared out at the stars for a few minutes; she watched his profile, looking at the nose that had obviously been broken and healed without a regenerator, and the roughness of his skin that suggested some sort of burn that had also never seen sickbay. Wondered how long this man had spent undercover in the past, that he had such healed injuries....

"We should talk about this when we're not on a Romulan vessel," he said in Catellan again. A language unlikely to be translated by Romulans, she thought, and it said he didn't want to risk being overheard.

"But you have been acting in our best interest?"

At that he did look at her, with a smirk. "I am. In fact, you've complicated things by inviting friends to join us on the way home."

"We couldn't leave anyone to be killed," she protested. "There were soldiers searching homes. They were helping us."

Tom nodded and turned back to the console. "I know. I need to work but we'll talk about this when we can."

"I'll go ask everyone what they want to do." She left the compartment, knowing that her statement had caused him a bit of anxiety - helping the Romulans get back into the Empire would increase risk again.

She found Toreth and Tarel in the galley. As she got a cup of the strong drink that she thought of as Romulan coffee, they watched her, Tarel with some affection and Toreth with significantly less suspicion and anger. Perhaps the beginnings of respect? "I just talked to Karval. He's working on sending a coded message to Starfleet. So at this point we are at a place where we can talk about choices -- it seems, after listening to all the channels he can access, Karval has heard nothing at all about a search for people escaping Romulus. That seems to suggest we have not been missed. It may be that the three of us can leave your vessel and you could return -- visiting your sister on the way to return Ael to her family on Kashi'val would be an understandable enough reason to leave, would it not?"

Toreth stared at her -- Tarel merely smiled. "We have been discussing it with Tet and the others. While I'm certain you have sensed some of the misgivings some of us have had, it's still our plan to go with you. There are a number of reasons why -- one of them would be Narviat's condition. We haven't made this decision lightly. His heart condition has not been resolved by Romulan doctors, and Spock informed us that it would be straightforward in a Federation facility to reverse the condition."

"I'm happy to hear it," Deanna said sincerely. There was still a risk to them if they returned, after all. "What about you, Toreth?"

The former Romulan commander was frowning, but she was determined. "I appreciate your consideration," she replied, with a forced little smile. "But Tarel is my only remaining family and I have not been entirely circumspect in voicing disagreement with some of what the Empire has done. I am not alone in being angry that the Tal Shiar have become bullies and the government has only encouraged it. There have been those that the Empire has punished for such opinions, and I suspect it is only a matter of time. The business on Seldavo has not been so easy, either. There have been some changes in regulation that made me wonder if I were not being subjected to retribution, in fact. Subtle, patient backstabbing is frequently the punishment of choice, in the Empire."

Deanna started to wonder if they would even be able to adjust. She made a mental note to recommend that Starfleet assign someone to help them assimilate into whatever world they chose. And thought that it might be helpful if she made recommendations, again, with more supporting information. Sitting across from Toreth, she sipped her coffee. "Now that Telum is not here I can tell you that M'Ret is living on Betazed. We are, as a general rule, a very open and honest people. Social telepaths tend to be. It may be difficult to simply accept that you can stop looking for the next deceit but M'Ret has been able to do so, over the years he has been there."

"I find myself wondering exactly what your mission was," Toreth said. "If the Federation is so welcoming and open to peace, why do they need spies?"

"I don't agree with everything that Starfleet does. But I am not privy to all the reasons for our orders, often we are told only that we are trying to avert a war, or that we need to rescue prisoners."

"I'm surprised you didn't attempt to find and recover Spock," Tarel said.

"That was attempted before, but Spock chooses to remain," Deanna said. "He is on a self-appointed mission of peace."

A sudden spike of anxiety and anger from Tom startled her, and refocusing her attention she recognized that Telum was feeling a strong malicious joy -- she put down the mug with a thump and was on her feet before she thought about it, heading for the door. "Something's wrong!"

She heard them running after her through corridors. She reached the front of the ship -- stopped cold, at the sight of Telum, holding a weapon and pointing it at Tom's head as he shoved the man forward down the corridor. Tom held up his hands and stumbled a few steps, then took slow steps toward her. He twitched his head slightly to the right and flicked fingers, telling her to take him out.

"I sent a message -- you may as well all relax and wait with me, a warbird will be here shortly," Telum said.

Deanna sensed Tom's intent a second before he dropped to the floor, so she was already in motion, leaping over Tom, ducking and sweeping in, moving fast enough that Telum didn't even get off a shot. She grappled with him and then Toreth was there to wrench the disruptor out of Telum's hand. When she had it oriented on Telum's head, Deanna backed off and dropped to one knee to check on Tom, who hadn't moved.

Tom's eyes, brown due to fake lenses, were dilated. "He hit me with a light stun. But I'm a tough nut."

"Let's get you to the medical bay. Come on." She took his hand and helped him up.

"I will do a better job of locking this one away somewhere," Toreth said, waiting for her to take Tom out of the way. "Tarel, if you would check the comms."

"He thinks he sent it. I was working on the comms, so they're offline at the moment," Tom said, leaning on Deanna more than she'd expected.

Deanna took him past the galley to the small sickbay and sat him down in a chair. "Any coaching on how to adjust these for you?"

"You need to finish getting the comms online and get a coded message out," he said wearily, slurring a little. "That's an agent of the Tal Shiar. It's not been out in the news because they have had a mole watching you all the time and were waiting for him to make contact. It's all been a chess game. He outed himself with that weapon -- he got out of a secure lockup, he had tools to do it on him, because I'm not that careless to leave him in a place with anything useful. But I didn't search him and that was a big mistake. He's not just a patriotic and scared servant."

"If it's so urgent we'll just send a message in the clear," she said. "If he failed to make contact we have a little time."

"You can't do that. They'll have a warbird here and gone before Starfleet can receive it. And he may have had a set deadline for contact -- someone may already be on the way."

"The _Potemkin_ is patrolling the Neutral Zone. All I have to do is send a message and ask for help. I don't have to name names. Shelby knows my voice."

Tom laughed, and so when Tarel came in, she was smiling. "I think you are correct and the message didn't actually go anywhere. Do you need help with the instruments."

Deanna turned to her. "Yes, is there a way to reset them for human biology? I'm going to the bridge to work on the comms."

"I believe I can help him, yes."

"I'll be up there in a few minutes," Tom said.

Deanna went, running into Toreth again as she navigated corridors. "I have him secured in one of the cabins - I disconnected the door mechanism."

"I'm going to finish what Karval was doing and hopefully Starfleet will be here shortly."

Toreth followed her, and actually helped her reconnect the comms. It was much faster with her assistance. Once they were done Deanna brought up the frequency settings and started to adjust them.

"Your friend Karval is well versed in Romulan technology," Toreth commented. "How long will it take to get a response?"

"I'm not sure, but we're about to find out." Deanna opened a channel on the unsecured Starfleet hailing frequency and sent the message in Standard. "We need help. We have injured. Mayday, mayday."

When she closed the channel and turned to Toreth, she found the other woman smiling and shaking her head. "No coordinates?"

"Wait."

After a long pause, the panel lit up again -- Deanna touched the controls, and listened to the response, broadcast openly and without identifying information. "Here to help. Send us your location."

"You deliberately kept it off the communication network -- made sure it was a localized transmission, to verify they were close enough before sending coordinates, so a warbird couldn't make it here first," Toreth said, appreciating the tactic.

Deanna touched 'send' again and relayed the coordinates in Standard.

"You aren't concerned that was actually a Romulan? Many of us know your language."

"I doubt any of you sound like Captain Shelby, or know how to make yourselves sound like her. Or that anyone would predict this would be necessary."

Toreth laughed and turned to look as the dreadnought dropped out of warp in front of them. They sat staring at it for a moment. Deanna felt a wave of relief wash through her, at the sight of a Federation vessel. The panel lit up again. This time, the transmission was extremely localized, and from the readouts, weak enough that it would not be picked up by others unless their vessel was right there with them.

"Hello," Deanna said warmly.

"What are we helping you with today?" Elizabeth was following her lead in keeping names and information out of the transmissions.

"Do you have a parking spot we could take?"

"The main shuttlebay awaits. See you in a few minutes."

Deanna smiled at Toreth triumphantly. "Thank you, sir."


	9. Chapter 9

Jean-Luc walked into his assigned quarters, feeling tired all over again, and completely dislocated -- after their time in the Romulan Empire it felt odd to be himself again, on a Starfleet vessel, at the same time feeling at home for the first time in two weeks. The interior of the dreadnought was standard issue, very much the same as on the _Enterprise_.

He had awakened on the shuttle to Deanna informing him of what had happened while he slept, then they were caught up in meeting with the others to disembark. Now that they were on the _Potemkin_ , Telum was in the brig, the others in their quarters -- or in sickbay. Tom had required not only surgery to remove his adopted face, but medical treatment, as he had been stunned by a Romulan disruptor. Narviat was remaining in sickbay pending further care for his heart condition. The rest of them had been released after examination and costume removal.

As he glanced around the living area, Deanna came out of the bedroom -- she was beaming happily, reaching for him, and he caught her in his arms.

"It's good to see you again," he murmured. They had both put on uniforms. He found it much more comfortable than the costumes they'd been wearing.

"We should go see Tarel. She's worried about Narviat. I understand her concern, I would be at wit's end if you were in a Romulan medical facility regardless of any reassurances."

"Are you as tired as I am?"

Deanna put her hands on his chest and leaned in again. He held her again, cheek to her hair, letting the bond hum between them. Five minutes more wouldn't hurt anything, they had all the time they needed now. Shelby had ordered the ship to continue along the Neutral Zone on the heading they had originally been on, as if nothing were wrong; in a week they would be at a starbase and able to go their way with another Starfleet vessel, which would rendezvous with the _Enterprise_. They would take the Romulans to Betazed themselves.

"I think that this was a Starfleet mission that Section 31 attempted to twist to their purposes," Deanna said. "I am certain that Tom was the only reason that it ended well. I think we would have been caught, tortured and killed otherwise."

At that, he stepped away from her and met her gaze. She was calm and collected as Counselor Troi had ever been. "Why would the Section want us to die? And if we were caught -- why would they want a war?"

"I believe we've had the conversation before, about the risk involved in attempting to predict outcomes -- the goal of protecting the Federation at all costs would over time lead them to think that specific people might be a risk. And I could see that at times a war might be to their advantage. A way of stirring Starfleet to prime them, if there might be other conflicts in the near future that they should be prepared to endure. The Empire is likely at its worst at the moment and their forces weaker than ever -- perhaps the Section knows we would win a war right now, and intends to set in place a forced peace with the Empire. I intend to ask Tom again and I hope he answers this time, as he said he would."

"Let's go talk to Tarel."

The suite assigned to Tarel and Narviat, two doors down the corridor from theirs, was but a moment's walk away. When they were admitted, they found Tarel and her sister seated on the sofa. Both of them tensed at the sight of them.

"It's us," Deanna said. "I am Commander Deanna Troi. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"Oh," Tarel exclaimed. Then again, "oh!" and she stood up and came to embrace Deanna. She laughed happily and turned to do the same to Jean-Luc, unexpectedly. "You are -- so much different than I expected. I did not know what to expect, but -- hello."

"We're inviting you to have dinner with us," Jean-Luc said. "I look forward to being able to discuss things on an even footing, rather than conform to the protocol of maintaining secrecy."

"I'll look forward to that. If Narviat can come -- do you think it would be all right to go see how things are progressing with the surgery?" Tarel asked, very openly worried. "It's been longer than they told me it would be."

"They would have contacted you if anything had gone wrong," Deanna said. "From what I can tell no one has been anxious in sickbay, and he is waking up, so I think -- "

"Sickbay to Tarel," came a warm baritone -- Dr. Teysam was Denobulan, and tended to be very friendly indeed. "Your husband is awake and asking for you, if you wish to come."

That led to a procession to sickbay, walking with Tarel to the turbolift and going to see Narviat in recovery. Toreth followed them, perhaps not wanting to be alone on a Federation vessel, and seemed startled by Deanna's arm through Jean-Luc's. She kept her thoughts to herself, however.

Tom was sitting up on one of the biobeds in main sickbay. Free of his disguise, he had blue eyes again, and watched them come in with a smile.

"Tom," Deanna said, with more warmth than she'd previously had with the man. "You're looking more yourself. Tarel, Toreth, this is Captain Tom Glendenning. You knew him as Karval."

"Oh," Toreth blurted. "Well -- I must compliment your surgeons."

"Are you recovered from your disruptor stun?" Deanna asked.

"I'm fine, thanks, hon," Tom said, standing up. He wore one of the blue coveralls of the recently-uncostumed sickbay patient.

"Hey," Jean-Luc scolded. Tom smirked at his reaction to the overfamiliarity.

"Hello," Dr. Teysam exclaimed as he fairly bounced into main sickbay from the direction of the surgical bay. "Come come -- he's right in here."

Tarel hurried forward. "How is he? Is he cured?"

"My dear, it was a straightforward procedure -- he's going to be just fine," Teysam said, putting a hand on her arm as they went back and turned the corner out of view.

Toreth had an interesting expression on her face, watching her sister go. Deanna was watching her. "Toreth?"

"I am experiencing a curious reaction to this situation from which I am struggling to recover."

"I know how you feel." Deanna paused, apparently measuring her reaction, and went on. "Abrupt transitions from one culture to another, or from one reality to another, are very disorienting. I have helped others in the process. It will pass."

Toreth smiled unexpectedly. Even laughed a little, shaking her head.

"Another thing to appreciate -- how drastic the change you made, when you stopped being Ael and started being yourself," Jean-Luc said, sharing the amusement. "How many times did you want to reassure someone over the past two days in just that way?"

Deanna tossed her head. The defiant gesture of Ael t'Aimne. "How do you know Ael was not me?"

"Oh, this is going to be interesting," he said, chuckling.

"You're sure, that I am well," Narviat's voice echoed down the corridor. He was coming back, wearing a blue coverall that was often issued to someone heading home from sickbay.

"Clean bill of health," Teysam said happily. "If you have any symptoms do contact us but I assure you, the surgery was absolutely textbook. You are in perfect health."

"What about me?" Tom said.

The Denobulan turned to the other captain. "Well, you're fine, too. You could use a good night's sleep. But you're released to whatever you need to do, Captain. You're quite fit for duty."

"Good. I'm going to talk to Shelby," Tom said, turning to Jean-Luc. "I'll be borrowing a shuttle and going looking for my ship -- the first officer thinks I'm going to be somewhere else in a few days, we're ahead of schedule. Not going to start broadcasting my whereabouts even on secure channels, this close to the Neutral Zone."

"Thank you, Tom." Jean-Luc held out a hand -- the other captain shook it firmly. Tom turned to Deanna, but the look she was giving him forestalled whatever he might have done. She wanted answers and he was giving them no chance to get them. He bowed slightly in her direction, glanced at the Romulans, and sped out of sickbay.

"I had the impression you were friends," Toreth said. The chill in the air had obviously registered with the Romulans.

"Duty first," Jean-Luc said, hoping to deflect. Deanna shot him a frustrated look, then smiled as she turned to the very-confused Narviat. 

"Commander Deanna Troi," she said, holding out a hand. "But you can still call me Ael if you like."

Narviat laughed and clapped his hands. "Wonderful. And this is Erket, or was?"

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard, sir," Jean-Luc said, holding out a hand. Narviat stepped forward to shake it firmly, and as he withdrew turned to study Deanna more closely. 

"Your eyes," he murmured, wonderingly. 

"Betazoid eyes." Jean-Luc gestured at the door. "Why don't we go find the others, and see if they would like to join us?"

Deanna gave him an appreciative glance. "I think we should all meet on a holodeck. We could show them where M'Ret is living."

"Show us?" Tarel exclaimed. 

As Jean-Luc led the group out of sickbay, Deanna asked the computer about free holodecks, and established their new destination as holodeck three. It would be impossible to all ride in the same lift, so he let Deanna go with Tarel and Narviat and waited with Toreth.

"When I contact the admiral I will be able to provide an update -- Captain Shelby has surely informed Command that she's picked us up. We are in no hurry, any longer."

"I wonder if we will be welcomed so warmly as Ael... as the commander expects." 

The doors opened again, and they stepped inside. "Holodeck three," he said. As the lift started to move, he wished he had a way of reassuring her, but he feared she was correct. "Centuries of mistrust will take time to overcome."

Toreth laughed again, briefly. "I am beginning to see that you are quite an optimist, Captain," she said, as the door opened again, decanting them on the next deck. Deanna was waiting for them with the other two and so heard her comment.

"Incurably so," Deanna replied. "And it is contagious. I contacted the others. Arja and Tet are tired, and not up to it today, but I told them there would be other opportunities. Tyreen is on her way."

"What part of Betazed are we going to? And I hope it isn't during one of those festivals you described, I am not dressed for that," Jean-Luc said, knowing she would make light of it. 

"M'Ret is in Novanii, which is south of the Fifth House." 

They met Tyreen and Darani at the door to the holodeck. "This computer on this ship, is it like all Federation computers?" Tyreen asked. She looked like she'd been experimenting with the replicator; the pantsuit she wore was Terran, a silky turquoise outfit that would lead anyone to give her a double-take if they noticed the points on her ears through her long hair. "I am not accustomed to taking direction from a computer."

"Most computers take verbal input," Deanna said. "It can be changed to your preferred interface, however. Computer, load a simulation of a Betazoid town, present day."

"Program loaded. Please enter," the computer said, as the broad doors parted. 

Deanna led the way inside, and Jean-Luc watched their guests walk slowly after her, clearly stunned by the illusion of being outside on a street. Toreth turned to him. "Are all your vessels so equipped, with rooms like this?"

"Most of them. Especially those intended to be on multi-year missions. It helps the crew to have holodecks, to spend time in places other than corridors." He gestured at the tree-lined street. 

"There is a facility like this in the capitol," Tarel said. "But it is very expensive to visit."

 Narviat watched the holographic Betazoids walking about, turning around, taking it all in. "This is accurate?"

"I've been to this town before. It's nearly exactly what it was before the Dominion War. I would expect it's a little different now. The Fourth Province was hit very hard, when Betazed was invaded," Deanna said.

All of them, including Jean-Luc, turned around to look at her. She watched a tall young man walk past them, as if she didn't notice. Jean-Luc was bereft, and suspected the others were as well.

"The market in your capitol reminded me of markets on Betazed," she went on, facing Tarel and Narviat, moving closer to them. "There's a similar one down the street here."

"I had not heard that Betazed was involved in the war," Narviat said. 

"The Dominion attacked it anyway. They hit civilian targets and particularly ones that refused to comply. Betazed does not have a fleet. Trade vessels, passenger vessels, research, yes. Some of us join Starfleet, but not many. It's difficult to be violent when you sense the pain of the other." She turned around, to face Tyreen, who stood behind the group. "Did you speak to your husband?"

"Yes," Tyreen said, smiling happily with such an openly-joyful expression that it was startling. The woman had been so emotionless, for most of their journey so far. "He said he will inquire about coming to meet me. I admit that I started to worry that you were leading me astray. He reassured me that we would find that we can trust the Federation."

"Excellent," Jean-Luc said. "I would expect he will catch up to you when we're off the Neutral Zone. Passenger vessels don't range so close to the Empire." He noticed a change in Deanna's expression, which he had learned to pay more attention to on this endeavor. "Did he tell you where he is living?"

"He has a house on a lake. He showed me the view -- I've never seen anything like it."

"Lake Elnara?" Deanna asked. "Computer, load simulation of Lake Elnara on Betazed."

It was startling to them when the scenery re-arranged itself around them. Now they stood on the sandy shore of a lake, and above on the bluff sat a house. There were flocks of birds swirling around in the deep blue sky overhead and a cool breeze coming off the gently-rippled water.

"Yes," Tyreen said breathlessly. "This is where we can live?"

"There may be homes available near M'Ret's house," Jean-Luc said. He watched Deanna, who seemed distracted and deep in thought.

"Ael? I'm sorry -- Deanna," Tarel said. Trying to adjust. "Are you all right?"

That they were all paying more attention to Deanna said something about how, in a very short time, relationships had happened.

"I haven't been to Betazed in years," she said, shaking her head and smiling ruefully. "I'm sorry. I was a little distracted. My mother has a house over there." She pointed farther down the shore.

They spent a pleasant walk down the sand with Deanna playing tour guide, talking about the culture and the things to see on Betazed. Jean-Luc thought that Toreth was not as receptive as the others. She seemed frustrated or possibly just upset by something. He hung back behind the group with her and walked with her for a time.

Finally she turned to stare at him, came to a halt, and he stopped as well. "Captain?"

"You are not happy with the prospect of living here?"

"Why would a species of soft, peaceful people who have no military welcome us?"

"A good question. Perhaps they are not so soft as you think."

Toreth raised an eyebrow at that. "She can spar, but she is Starfleet. She said herself that not many of her people go abroad. There are those in the Empire who are similar, very quiet and peaceful, but they do not mingle much with others. They would fit in here well enough."

"So you would prefer a place you would fit in, rather than adapt to quiet life? Personally, I intend to go home and live the rest of my years in quiet, when my time in Starfleet is done." He watched the others meandering away from them. "You might fit in with another species in the Federation well enough. There are militaristic member worlds. Earth itself for one."

"Human Starfleet captains will say they are about exploration, at least you are honest," she said with a mercenary smile.

"I am about exploration. I grow weary of battles -- but there is a reality at work, that other species we encounter are unfailingly suspicious or aggressive." He sighed, thinking about the missions he had never anticipated being given. "Some orders are not pleasant to follow."

"What is necessary is not always what we want, or expect," Toreth said quietly.

"I would rather learn about what humans have in common with your people, than how to defeat them in battle," Jean-Luc said. "But intelligence so rarely gives any insight into your culture."

"What would you like to know?" Toreth put her hands behind her back and started to walk again.

"What do you really think needs to happen, between the Federation and the Empire, to establish real peace?"

She frowned, but it gave her pause, and she thought about it while they ambled forward down the pale gray sand. "I believe that the Empire needs a change of government, and the Romulan people need to understand more about the reality in the Federation, rather than rely on rumor or assertions made by those who approach us in an attempt to be diplomatic."

"I would expect that the diplomats are sufficiently removed from the battles that they only understand the history between us in the abstract, and have little appreciation for the military tradition," he said. "Perhaps you could help."

"Help?" she exclaimed, taking a step away from him to glare.

"Expatriate members of worlds not in the Federation have helped with diplomacy, or become Starfleet officers, before. You understand the Empire and you can develop a thorough understanding of the Federation -- you are in a perfect position to change things. Don't stay on Betazed. Travel and see the Federation with your own eyes. Trust that some of what you have been told is true, after you verify that it is."

"That is a thought." Toreth started to walk again. "Or you could become a diplomat to the Empire. You appear to understand more than most."

"One of the reasons they assign particular captains to the Neutral Zone patrol is just that -- a better understanding, a more even-tempered, reasoned approach to confrontations. I will not deny there are those in Starfleet who have a taste for battle. I'm not one of them."

"Tarel tells me that Deanna isn't just your officer," Toreth said with a sly look. "Do you have children?"

"No." He had nothing further to say, and had difficulty hiding his discomfort with the question. "Do you?"

"I had a thought about having children. But my husband died in battle, during a skirmish with the Klingons long ago. I have to say that I never thought the Klingons would become a member of the Federation -- there were so many years of bad blood, between you. The Kllingons are less similar to you than the Romulans are."

"Do you know who the Tellarites are? The Andorians? I would add the L'norim to the list but we have barely begun to know them, and I have one on my crew -- my security officer is L'norim. Their world joined the Federation immediately when approached. They have a complex, confusing social structure, with a language our translators can't manage. Not that it does very well with Betazoid either."

"Point taken. I will consider what you have suggested, Captain."

"One day at a time," he replied with a smile.

Toreth chuckled. "You even know Romulan sayings."

"That is a Terran aphorism many centuries old."

"And so another commonality. Interesting."


	10. Chapter 10

By the time dinner was over, Deanna's eyes had actually started to hurt again. She sat down as Jean-Luc recycled the last of the dishes and rubbed her eyes. "Computer, what time is it?"

"The time is eighteen hundred twenty-three."

"Early, but late," Jean-Luc said. "We've been in a different diurnal schedule and it's been a long day. I'm surprised you didn't call an end to it before now. I'm feeling frayed at the edges myself."

"I'm so tired I'm numb. I hope you don't mind if I sleep in tomorrow."

"It's not likely we will have anything happening in the morning. The last estimate I heard for arriving at the starbase was such that you should be able to sleep in for two days if you like."

But the computer sounded the usual disruptive chime, and she groaned as he turned to let the person in -- Elizabeth Shelby arrived, smiling, glancing back and forth between them. She'd met them after they docked, and later contacted them to keep them updated, but mostly allowed them to handle their guests as they'd requested.

"Just checking to see if you needed anything," she said. "Other than sleep. You look exhausted."

"Thank you, but we're fine. Our guests seem to be doing well too, considering they left their lives behind." Deanna stretched a little, trying to smile for her friend.

"It was a little surprising, finding so many people plus a prisoner -- you have a knack," Elizabeth said, amused. "Admiral Tessora spent a bit of time trying to determine if I might be joking about it, without accusing me of joking about it. It's simply not done, to go on a mission like that and return with a bunch of refugees."

"It was an unusual mission but we tend to have such missions," Jean-Luc said. "It remains to be seen what we obtained from it. I'm happy to be back and no one seriously injured."

"Weird that you were sent in the first place, frankly," Elizabeth said, crossing her arms. "Why send the captain of the flagship of the fleet?"

"It was more that Deanna was selected -- she ran the mission, actually, and her skillset saved our lives. I was window dressing."

"You looked nothing like yourself," Elizabeth said with a grin. "Shocked me when you said hello. But I can see why you'd be so different, probably everyone in the Empire knows Captain Picard."

"The military perhaps." Deanna stood up from the couch. "Do you know Tom Glendenning well?"

"I hadn't even heard his name before, until Rigel. And I didn't want to know him after Rigel -- swaggering ass."

Deanna gave Jean-Luc a look. Both of them had different experiences with Tom that had led them to believe that was a front he used. Jean-Luc turned to Shelby. "He's not typical, no."

"How did he end up on this thing with you? The fleet status reports put his ship somewhere across the quadrant."

Deanna could see this becoming a longer conversation than either of them had the energy for. "I'm sorry to be so rude, but perhaps we could have lunch tomorrow? I'm not sure we'll wake up by then either, but I know we won't be up for breakfast."

"Of course. Sleep well -- just let me know about lunch." Elizabeth turned and left without further ado.

Deanna had enough energy to pull off her clothes and climb in bed, and was out almost the second her eyes closed. She woke in the dark, to the sound of Jean-Luc breathing and the warmth of him against her back. She sighed -- her eyes still felt raw, and her head hurt a little -- but everything was as it should be. The changes they had undergone had even altered smells, and being on another world had been a jarring sensory experience as well. The standard issue bedclothes and the human version of Jean-Luc were familiar and comforting scents.

She glanced up at the stars and sighed. They were still moving along at low warp, on patrol. Sliding back a bit until she bumped into Jean-Luc's back, she closed her eyes again. A quick scan said that their companions were asleep, as was a third of the crew, and no one aboard was feeling in any way that suggested there might be an emergency.

When she woke the following morning, it was to the remnant emotionsof a dream -- she was in the process of crying out, her arms in motion, and she found that Jean-Luc had already awakened and was touching her arm. "Dee?"

She tried to stop shaking and crying. Despite knowing they were on a starship and not in any way at risk, it took a while to slow her racing heart; she leaned into his arms and tried to breathe more slowly. "I don't understand this," she murmured. "I don't even remember the dream."

"You'll understand it when you're calmer. It's still early. Do you think you can sleep?"

"I think not. But you should."

He said nothing, lay there holding her on his chest and waited with her. Eventually she woke again to find she'd gone to sleep in his arms, and this time it was well past their usual breakfast time. She stayed as she was, cheek to his chest, and kept her eyes closed, enjoying the opportunity to rest. 

Eventually he woke and they took their time getting dressed. They were finishing a late breakfast when the annunciator startled them. When the door opened, Toreth came in. Deanna watched the Romulan hesitantly take a seat in the chair Jean-Luc invited her to sit in. Toreth wore casual clothing, something more like what off duty Starfleet would wear than a Romulan fashion, obviously picking something out of the replicator that was simple and quick. She was reluctant but determined, and Deanna could sense more -- a lingering pain, something she would label 'angst' in a human. It seemed familiar.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Toreth said, her hands resting on her knees, arms stiff. "I think you should know that the Tal Shiar is expecting me to contact them."

"I see," Jean-Luc said calmly. "Have you decided not to, then?"

Toreth tilted her head. "You surprise me."

"She expected you to be angry," Deanna said. "Or surprised."

"You sensed that I was withholding information," Toreth guessed.

"No, we understood, because we have trusted before and seen Romulans remain true to the Empire," Jean-Luc said. "Your loyalty to them is a given, your loyalty to us is not. But we want peace and I know that Spock has dedicated his life to developing a relationship with the Romulan people, and I honor his efforts by continuing to extend a hand of friendship when I have the opportunity. Which is not to say I expect you to turn on us, simply that we understand that it's a possibility."

"The Empire has changed," Toreth said. "My sister and her husband would never have defected. But -- "

Deanna could tell it was hard to overcome the life-long mistrust of the Federation. "You have seen the Empire change, just in the past decade, more than it has in the previous century. The Dominion War made them wake up, the pressure from the Beta Quadrant species has been increasing, and the threat of the Borg hangs over your government more than ever. They can't keep the citizens completely uninformed any longer and people are frightened. I know this, because this last effort was the second time I went into the Empire. The first was more observational in nature. I was not sent to take anything or to do anything other than understand what is happening in the Empire."

"You were sent to study us," Toreth summarized. "So what did you learn?"

"How frightened people are. Something that Romulus has in common with so many Federation worlds. There were many who lost family in the Dominion War. I understand that well. My own home was invaded, and for a while, I considered going home after the war was over. But I knew that officers in Starfleet are retiring and that we need officers, we need Starfleet, so I continue to stay and work to help other officers to stay in service. I am a counselor. I help people recover from trauma, among other things."

Toreth was staring at her now, surprised and trying to understand. "A counselor," she echoed. 

Belatedly, Deanna realized that perhaps there was no word for it in Romulan, and the translation matrix might have failed them. "Yes. I help people overcome trauma. We have found that it impairs an officer's critical thinking and thus impacts their performance on duty, so in the best interests of the officer Starfleet added specialists to starships to help treat such issues."

"I understand the concept. It is simply not anything that we do. But I was startled to find that you were not a soldier, or an officer," Toreth said. "What you describe is not the kind of person I would expect to be doing intelligence work, which you do well."

Jean-Luc was watching her with an amused, smug little smile. Deanna ignored him. "I think that most Starfleet officers become more than what they were, when they started, else we become former officers, or dead ones. It's more and more been the case that situations we face demand it."

"Just as my current situation demands more of me. I wanted you to know that I will not be contacting the Tal Shiar. That I have considered all that's been said, and decided to stay with my sister. Something that you mentioned, wanting to simply go home and live a quiet life -- it occurred to me that the Empire expects us not to do that. We are expected to give everything to the Empire, all our lives. They make a pretense of rewarding some -- Narviat's heart condition let him step out of his position in the Tal Shiar without disgrace. I, on the other hand, was submitted to interrogation for the misfortune of having M'Ret use me as an unknowing escape route."

Deanna was shocked, caught herself gaping, and then realized as she sensed Toreth's emotions around that statement that perhaps her nightmare had not been her own. "You still dream about it, don't you?" she said, before she really thought about what she was doing.

Toreth didn't seem to take offense, but she also didn't answer. Instead, she turned to Jean-Luc. "You asked about my becoming some sort of intermediary, between the Federation and Romulus. I may be a poor choice, being in disgrace."

"Or, you may be a good choice, to encourage the people to act -- change the Empire, bring about a revolution that leads to more equitable and fair society for all citizens. Helping Spock with the task of reunification, or at least of making the changes in the Empire that the people seem to want," Jean-Luc said. "In a more equitable system would you have been interrogated? When something goes wrong on a starship there is an investigation, not an interrogation."

Toreth tilted her head. "An interesting idea. Would Starfleet give me a vessel, if I wanted to pursue that career again?"

"There have been others of different species from non-member worlds who have joined Starfleet, after an abbreviated course of classes at Starfleet Academy."

Deanna smiled at that thought. "You would be a good Starfleet officer. Ethical."

"I wonder what that would say to the Romulan people, if there were a Romulan in Starfleet. If that would start to alter perceptions despite the propaganda," Jean-Luc said. He'd heard from Narviat about the way media on Romulus tended to be lined up with what the government wanted the population to hear, and how the jaded citizens were generally losing faith in what they heard.

"I have believed I would never be able to command a ship again." Toreth was thoughtful. "You are saying it would be possible even though Romulus has not joined the Federation?"

"There are Starfleet officers who sought asylum from their home worlds. It's definitely possible. And you could request assignments that would not put you in direct conflict with Romulan vessels," Deanna said.

Toreth stood up, and they rose with her out of habit. She looked at each of them in turn, thinking again. "You have given me a lot to think about. If I go to your sickbay for something to help me sleep, what would I ask for?"

"Just that -- the specific medication would be something effective for your physiology." Deanna smiled again, hoping. "Are you settling in a little more?"

"It still seems odd to be here, not quite real. But I will spend some time studying my options. Getting used to the voice interface on the computer. Thank you. We will speak again soon." Toreth turned and left the room. 

"I think you may have gotten her attention," Deanna said, yawning. Toreth had been most interested 

"I wonder if you might need more sleep."

"We have another hour or so before lunch, so I'll do that."

By the time Shelby got there she had taken another nap, a shower, gotten dressed -- might have looked normal but for the remaining lines around the eyes that said exhaustion. She joined Jean-Luc in the living room and greeted Elizabeth with a smile. She was in uniform, of course, and it suited her. 

"Your friends are curious folks," Elizabeth said. "I gave them a tour around the ship this morning. They are not quite sure whether to believe they aren't prisoners, though."

"It would be a rational thing for them to believe -- Romulans have a history of manipulations and deceit, no doubt they do the same to their own people, and Narviat already questioned openly whether they would be trusted in the Federation," Jean-Luc said. He had put on a uniform, but Deanna had worn a blue dress. She joined them at the table, with replicated meals, and while they chatted Deanna checked her sense of the others. Tarel spent more of her time feeling relief, rather than anxiety. Narviat was feeling better physically; the general exhaustion he had had on Romulus had gone, apparently related to the heart condition that had been fixed. But he was as Elizabeth said, reserving judgment, not completely relaxed in the new environment.

"Deanna?" Elizabeth sounded worried. She'd apparently noticed Deanna drifting.

"I'm fine," she replied automatically. "Still a bit tired, that's all." Picking up her fork, she sampled the meal she'd asked for, and as usual it was good but not exactly right. Replicators needed help with some recipes and she hadn't taken the time to change any in the _Potemkin_ 's computer. Clearly there were no Betazoids aboard.

"I've done no intelligence work, myself. Starfleet knows who's suited to it, I suppose." Elizabeth's smile turned sad, as she picked up her spoon. "It's tragic that they weaponize people. I understand why, but I don't think there is any justification for it."

It was a curious thing to say, except that Deanna knew she was thinking about Section 31. Possibly about her deceased lover Tony -- or about any officer used in similar fashion.

Jean-Luc said nothing. Sometimes, he said more when he said nothing -- he stabbed at the salad he'd replicated with a little more force than usual, his expression subtly serious, his eyes lidded. His mood reminded her of the aftermath of being captured at Minos Korva, his recovery -- he was thinking about being tortured. He had told her in counseling about his suspicions, feeling as though he had been handed over to the Cardassians for some reason other than the mission briefing had indicated, but he'd had no concrete evidence of it. And later he had dismissed the idea as paranoia brought on by the trauma of his experience.

Deanna had also been thinking about it again, though, thanks to Tom and the experience Elizabeth had shared with them. Thinking about how Section 31 might have been involved in so many missions -- when there were aspects of a mission that somehow didn't add up, either because it went off plan or ended well due to sheer luck. It was easy to see how the Section might have agendas that they were not privy to, and how confusing it might be, being caught between Starfleet operations and an unknown layer of activity that was never supposed to be public knowledge.

"You're thinking some deep thoughts today," Jean-Luc commented. "Not unusual after one of these kinds of missions, as you know."

"Not unusual at all, but I'm not yet able to articulate the things that bothered me about it. I'm still focusing on the second half of the mission, getting them to a place where they are safe," Deanna said.

"I wonder if any of them might be going along with this only to double back and try to return home?" Elizabeth asked.

Jean-Luc merely looked at Deanna, and she shook her head. "I know that they could change their mind. It would still be worth helping them. These are good people. They deserve better than what they were subjected to in the Empire."

"Every once in a while, someone turns out to be what they appear to be," Jean-Luc added. 

"But these are Romulans," Elizabeth said. 

"If they are honest in seeking asylum, why would we deny them?" Jean-Luc said. "And while I can't know whether they are entirely trustworthy, I do know that Deanna is."

"You trust her sense of people so completely?" 

Deanna chewed slowly on the second-rate oskoid, and had difficulty looking at either of them. It made her uncomfortable thinking that so much relied on her empathy. On the one hand, it had rarely led her astray. On the other, this was such a delicate situation. What served the individuals might be different than what served Starfleet, and the nuance could become a problem -- Narviat or any of the Romulans could tell her the truth about a personal inclination and still work against Starfleet.

"I would prefer to give this a chance -- we don't need another war," Jean-Luc said, sidestepping the question. "We need Romulus to want peace. There is a civil war brewing in the Empire, it could easily become a war across the quadrant. You know the recovery from the Dominion War has been slow and faltering."

"How does a handful of defectors accomplish peace with the Romulan Empire?" Elizabeth asked.

Deanna cleared her throat a little, reaching for her glass of water. She'd had enough of the food to call it lunch. "Narviat was one of the very few survivors of the Dominion War to return home. Most of the Tal Shiar was decimated -- the fleet they sent against the Dominion was destroyed. The Empire is in a heightened state of unrest because they know that they are not adequately defended any longer -- species on the other side of the Empire are putting pressure on the resources they do have. How hard it is, to have fought so hard for so long for survival -- how can they trust anyone who tells them they have no reason to fear the Federation?"

"You sympathize with them. There are a lot of officers who would say that's bias at work," Elizabeth said. She'd opted for soup, and her spoon made slight sounds against the bowl as she ate.

"I realize. But I also recognize that the Federation can be caught up in desperation as well, and that we can be blinded to what's in front of us -- it would be equally biased to not take the opportunity for peace because we have been fooled by Romulans in the past," Deanna said. She stood up with her plate. "I'm going to get something else to drink -- would you care for anything?"

While she recycled the dishes and got a glass of cold tea, Deanna checked again, wondering why Toreth and Tarel might be frustrated. She shook it off and returned to her chair, to sit with her friends while they ate. Jean-Luc was again remembering, this time something that amused him. 

"How many encounters with Romulans have you had?" Elizabeth asked. "I've been in stand-offs and a few brief skirmishes. The usual for those who patrol this region. I thought we made real headway during the war, we were all in a fleet together and the commanders I spoke to were cordial but it was obvious that they didn't truly invest faith that we might be building a relationship."

"In the same way we know what Command is willing to back and what they are not willing to concede," Jean-Luc said. "I think they knew what was possible, what their superiors were expecting."

Shelby's brows drew together and her blue eyes were filled with concern. She considered, glancing at Deanna, tilting her head slightly. "I find myself wondering how you've managed to stay in Starfleet, after everything -- the Borg, the war, and confronting the frustrating expectations of Command and the politicking through the years. Surely no one could expect you to remain. If anyone deserves a long happy retirement it would be you."

That led to an awkward moment of silence. She immediately regretted saying it, and Jean-Luc was uncertain of what to say. Deanna wanted to deflect somehow but words eluded her too. She settled for changing the subject. "How long are you assigned to this patrol on the Neutral Zone?"

"Probably another month or two. Always the potential to be pulled to some more emergent situation, you know," Elizabeth said, grateful for the topic change.

The chat then became superficial and their hostess excused herself, recycled her dishes, and reminded them to contact her if they needed anything -- her smile was genuine but a bit forced, and she exited their quarters. Deanna sat looking at the door and wondering.

"She certainly hasn't changed. Never one to mince words," Jean-Luc commented, with an amused sniff.

They had talked before about other options -- several times in fact, before she'd taken up residence in his bed. But not since then. They had been so focused on the present moment that neither of them had brought it up again. She'd thought here and there about retirement, promotion, or simply continuing, and stopped when distracted by any other thing. Now she wondered if that had been her way of avoiding a potential bomb that might upset the relationship.

"I realize we have yet to actually consider this one finished, but it's been one of those missions that makes me think beyond it to the next impossible thing," he went on. "She simply reminded me of that out of sequence -- it's not til I get back into my quarters and sit with the counselor about it that I tend to ruminate over such things."

"And you ruminated without the counselor often as well," she teased gently.

"True. And this time it will be a different conversation. One that I think is best postponed until we have moved our guests into the next phase of their defection."

"Or not." She looked down at her hands -- she hadn't gone to the ship's salon for a new manicure, the tips she'd worn for the mission had been removed but nothing had been done beyond that, so her stubby natural nails had a few sharp corners and irregular edges. Not a bad metaphor for how she felt at the moment.

"Have you been happy?"

She raised her eyes to his. He still sat across the table from her, and he wasn't anxious -- he was curious and perhaps a little sad. Anticipating an answer he would find difficult to accept?

"You know that I'm happy with you. You also know that I find my work stressful and often need to meditate and recover from it. I suppose I should add that it's been harder to recover, in the past few years. The war made it so stressful for everyone around me that it gave me headaches, on top of the work. And if the forward motion on duty slows down I find myself tired, more and more."

"You told me already, but you didn't tell me everything," he summarized. "And you might be concerned that choosing to change your career path would negatively impact our relationship."

She sighed, wishing she felt better, but the weariness had returned; the nap had revived her somewhat, a good night's sleep had helped, but Elizabeth's comment had plunged her into the subject she'd deliberately set aside for a while. "I don't know if I want to change, yet."

"But you are considering it. My own view hasn't changed; I intend to support whatever it is you want to do. Without creating distance, of any sort, between us."

He'd been correct. This was a poor time to discuss it. Her eyes were watering and stinging again, and a lot of it was the exhaustion. "I need another nap. But sometime I hope I am awake enough to discuss what it is that you want, Jean-Fish."

He stood up with her and hovered protectively, following her to the bedroom with a hand in the small of her back. He watched her recline on the bed and leaned down, and as his lips brushed her forehead the whisper of heartfire accompanied the caress of his lips across her skin.


	11. Chapter 11

Jean-Luc met Shelby in the lift. She stood at attention with him on the ride to the transporter room. "How do you think it will go for them?" she asked.

It was the third day since they'd been picked up by the _Potemkin_ and another vessel had arrived with Vice Admiral Felton aboard. Felton had been assigned by Tessora to debrief and retrieve the isolinear module and its payload of data retrieved from the system in the Romulan Imperial Palace, which Deanna had been keeping since she'd escaped with it.

"I don't believe I've met Felton. Can't begin to guess how she will be with Narviat and the others."

"I've spent a little more time with Tarel and Toreth, I like them well enough. But I wonder about Toreth. She holds back a lot." Elizabeth sighed quietly. "How is she?"

Jean-Luc knew she meant Deanna -- the recovery from the mission was turning out to be slow, for her. "Perhaps still tired, but better."

"She seems exhausted, when I've seen her."

He knew that Deanna's efforts to continue building a rapport with the Romulans and continue to monitor them for any sign of treachery had retarded her recovery. He glanced at Elizabeth and stepped forward as the door opened, and she followed him down the corridor to the transporter room.

"Ready to energize," the young woman at the console said.

"Let's bring them over," Shelby said with a nod. She came to attention at Jean-Luc's side, hands behind her back, mimicking his stance.

Two people materialized in front of them. The admiral, a tall human woman with dark hair, and Tom Glendenning. Felton was stick-thin, square-jawed, and did not appear to be happy at all. 

"Welcome aboard, Admiral Felton," Elizabeth said. "And Captain Glendenning, welcome back."

"Thank you," Felton said, stepping off the platform. "Captain Picard, good to see you. Captain Shelby, I'd like to use one of your briefing rooms?" Terse, to the point -- Jean-Luc started to wonder if this would be one of those stressful debriefings that had become more typical since the war. He'd hoped, since the mission had been successful, for a return to the more relaxed sort of debriefing.

"Of course. This way." Elizabeth shot him a sympathetic look that said she was picking up the same message.

Jean-Luc walked behind them, and Tom fell in step with him. "How's it going?" Tom asked with an easy smile, as if they were good friends.

"Well enough. Are you already debriefed, then?" He was tempted to ask about the mission that Glendenning's vessel clearly wasn't on, but it was immaterial, the _Phoenix_ had brought the admiral instead and everyone in Starfleet knew diversions were the new status quo.

"She interviewed me. I told her y'all did a great job."

Shelby escorted them to one of the briefing rooms on deck two, and departed for the bridge after assuring the admiral she could contact her for anything else she needed. Felton turned to Jean-Luc. "Captain, would you have the commander join us?"

He tapped his commbadge at once. "Picard to Troi. Report to briefing room three."

"On my way."

"Would you have a seat? Captain Glendenning, please wait outside." Felton didn't even look at the man. No love lost there.

Tom left the room without looking back. Felton sat at the head of the small oval table, and Jean-Luc sat to her left, folding his hands on the table. She smiled at him, with the thin-lipped formal smile of a career admiral.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Picard," she said. Her slight accent was, he thought, British. "I have looked forward to meeting you."

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Admiral."

"Admiral Nechayev had good things to say about you. I wonder if you will be joining us at Command?" Her smile and sincerity was surprising, after the tension. "Your wealth of experience would be a great asset, as we guide the fleet back to strength."

He didn't have an opportunity to answer. The door opening interrupted and Deanna came in, wearing a smile and her uniform. She stood at attention to greet the admiral. "Commander Deanna Troi reporting, sir."

"Have a seat, please." The smile was gone; the brusque admiral conducting a debriefing returned.

Deanna did so, her hands in her lap. She smiled across the table at Jean-Luc, then at the admiral, waiting. She'd worn her hair clipped back from her face. While it was shorter than her usual still as a result of the injuries sustained at Galisi she had grown it out enough that she no longer wore the wig. 

"Computer," Felton said. "Begin recording -- debriefing of Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Commander Deanna Troi, stardate 53646.78. Captain, if you would begin by summarizing the events that took place following your departure from Federation space."

Jean-Luc told the story succinctly, each move from vessel to vessel and to Romulus, the walk from the small town to the capital, finding Narviat and Tarel, the false Koval's visit to the house, the mission from his perspective. At a point he gave control of the narrative to Deanna, who went on to describe her infiltration of the palace, the escape, and the arrival of Tom Glendenning.

"Captain Glendenning was the one who prepared you for the mission," Felton said. "He informed me that the parameters of the mission changed while you were on Romulus. Do you feel that his participation was necessary?"

It was a curious question. Jean-Luc kept a benign smile in place as he wondered why the admiral might ask it. "It's difficult to say. There was an exit strategy but he informed us that it would not work, due to changes in circumstance. I couldn't begin to predict how it might have been, had he not been present."

"I think given the presence of the spy in the Aimne household, Captain Glendenning likely reduced the probability of capture," Deanna said. "He gave us a quicker exit that did not allow Telum the opportunity to notify anyone we were going."

"When you reached the colony you gave the Aimne an opportunity to solicit help directly from a family member. How did you come to the conclusion that you could trust them not to turn you in?" Felton asked Jean-Luc, but as she spoke she glanced at Deanna, as if anticipating the answer. He didn't go the direction anticipated.

"Narviat and Tarel wanted to defect. Their lives were as much at risk as ours, at the time. They were helping us throughout the mission, they went with us as we escaped in a small shuttle, and they were relieved to be on a Federation vessel," Jean-Luc said. "We estimated the risk to be acceptable, given the alternatives at the time."

"You will speak to them as well?" Deanna asked.

Felton looked back and forth between them again. After a moment she smiled -- not the forced one she'd started with. "You are concerned for them."

"Of course we are," Deanna said. "Admiral... was I incorrect in assuming that we are actively attempting to establish a relationship with the Empire? I would have thought that any opportunity to befriend the families would be worth the effort. The Aimne are an important house. Having House Nai and House Aimne seeking asylum, along with Commander Toreth -- they want their government to change, so much that they are willing to defect."

"And it sends a clear message to all of the Romulan people, that Narviat is leaving the Empire of his own volition," Jean-Luc said. 

"I hope for peace just as you do," Felton said. "I assure you I will let them speak for themselves. Now. When you left the colony it was in a vessel provided by Toreth -- and then you imprisoned the man Telum, as you discovered he was a Tal Shiar informant. How did you determine that?"

"We had nothing but time to talk, on the shuttle ride away from Romulus. Commander Troi became concerned as she sensed duplicity and deception. Captain Glendenning locked him in a cabin pending further investigation," Jean-Luc said. 

"So you relied upon her sense of the individuals involved, to determine who was trustworthy and who was not?" The admiral seemed pleased to have been able to reach this conclusion.

"We had the supposition confirmed when he broke out of confinement and attempted to contact the Tal Shiar," Deanna said calmly. "He held Captain Glendenning with a weapon. Fortunately, the communications system was not online. We captured him again and Toreth confined him."

"Captain Glendenning needed medical attention, which he received here on the  _Potemkin_." Jean-Luc kept his hands under the table and his head up, and tried not to react to the admiral's responses with much emotion. He'd learned to stay factual and not volunteer information, with some admirals. He tried not to look across the table at Deanna either.

_There's something she is not saying. She is fishing for something and not getting it._

Deanna's thought only confirmed what he'd already suspected, from her reserved responses and the admiral's terse questions. 

Felton studied her padd for a moment, referring perhaps to her notes. She looked up at Jean-Luc with a forced smile. "In your report you mention that you met other people socially, in the home of your hosts. But you did not identify them."

"I did not feel it was pertinent," he replied with a conciliatory smile. "The conversation was mostly about the Aimne family, the social circle that they all shared, and some of the events they all shared -- nothing but chatter. Part of that by design, as the commander's cover identity was supposed to be a spoiled young woman rather than someone interested in politics."

Felton turned back to her padd, and addressed Deanna again. "How often does Captain Picard rely upon your empathy to determine the next course of action in a mission?"

Deanna blinked -- stunned by the sudden cessation of the fishing expedition. "I'm not sure that he ever has."

"In a review of your logs, Captain, you refer to your counselor's sense of people's emotions as part of how you came to decisions, in many cases -- "

"I am confused, Admiral. Is this a debriefing of this mission, or of my last ten years of missions aboard the  _Enterprise_?" Jean-Luc asked, frowning and hoping he seemed more confused than frustrated. "I was informed that her abilities were in fact part of why she was chosen for this mission, and I was a late addition. She was originally intended to carry out the mission with the help of Glendenning, who recommended sending me instead for reasons I believe he already articulated. The commander guided many of the decisions made because she was better prepared and spoke the language more fluently than I."

Felton stared at him then with some lofty ire, and put down the padd. "I would like to speak to the commander now, Captain. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir." He rose and left the room, trying not to glance back at the admiral -- he caught a look out of the tail of his eye, and saw that he'd startled her. As he exited the room he smiled.

Glendenning was leaning against the wall opposite. Arms crossed, one leg straight, the other foot flat against the wall behind him and his knee sticking out. After the door closed, he said in a low voice, "She's an interesting one. What do you think?"

"Debriefings that seem like courts-martial may have become routine, but I don't appreciate them." Jean-Luc turned to stand alongside Tom, not posing quite as much. 

Tom grinned, nodded -- actually bobbed his head up and down like a big bird -- and shrugged. "You'd think Starfleet would be picking apart the things the Romulans tell them, and asking for verification from us. But they've been upside down since the truce."

Jean-Luc stared at the closed door. Tom wasn't wrong. Starfleet had a habit of investigating more than it had before, thanks to the insurrections minor and major during the Dominion War. And in some cases the admirals were wary in self defense -- having captains who were independent and had varying interpretations of regulations and orders was fine so long as the Federation was at peace, but dealing with Maquis, Changelings and other threats that were less cut and dried, having the likes of Admiral Leyton deciding to take matters into their own hands, and still manage to keep order and guard the borders of the Federation, all added up to a lot of responsibility and liability for the flag ranks.

"Still," Tom went on, after a pause, "I'd expect Felton would trust you more than me, in matters serious and important."

Jean-Luc turned his head to stare at the man. Tom noticed, and gave another comically-exaggerated shrug.

They both turned to look at the sound of oncoming footfalls. Narviat rounded the bend in the corridor, coming from the turbolift. He wore a brown vest over a tan shirt, a pair of dark brown pants, looking more like a farmer than a former subcommander in the Tal Shiar. He smiled at Jean-Luc. "I have been informed by Captain Shelby that we will be interviewed one by one, so I volunteered to come first, and when she is finished questioning me, I will go send the next person. I presume Ael is inside?"

Jean-Luc smiled at the use of the assumed name -- the Romulans had been using it as a nickname for Deanna. She'd explained, after Tarel questioned the meaning of the word 'swan' as used by Tom while under cover, that it was Jean-Luc's nickname for her; since Ael meant 'winged one' it suited them to resume calling her that.

"She is answering the admiral's questions. We are waiting for her."

"Admiral Felton is hopefully as open and forward-thinking as you are," Narviat said. His smile dwindled at seeing the reaction in Jean-Luc's face. "Is this not going well, then?"

"I do not know the admiral personally, and I'm uncertain as to her conclusions -- it's fairly early in the debriefing process."

Tom snorted. "She's a recent promotion," he said, with a tone that said he wanted to roll his eyes. "She might have been in command of some little vessel studying comets for ten minutes during the Dominion War. I assume there is a handbook on admiralty that she isn't varying far from, and she follows orders to the letter."

Narviat snorted. "I have met similar, in the Empire's fleet. The kind who made Toreth bite her tongue and learn to hold a smile instead of laughing outright."

"At times Starfleet -- "

The door opened, before Jean-Luc could finish an attempt to reassure. Deanna stepped out, took stock of the situation, and stepped aside, letting the door close. She faced Narviat with a sober expression. 

"Am I going to regret coming along with you?" he asked with a sad smile.

"No," Deanna said firmly. "Betazed will welcome you regardless."

Both his eyebrows went up at that, as did Tom's -- Jean-Luc smirked at the thought of what would happen if Deanna showed up on her mother's doorstep with Romulans in tow. Culture shock would not begin to describe it. But she surprised him again, as she addressed Narviat's surprise.

"Betazed is a member world of the Federation, but it is not restricted by that affiliation from offering asylum to those who seek it without Federation channels to facilitate it," she went on. "And as a Daughter of the Fifth House I know what that process would entail, so would be able to guide you in doing so."

"Fifth House, meaning one of the ruling houses," Narviat said with a smile. He and the others had been doing their own research on the culture. "I see. It was easier to be Ael than we thought."

The door opened, and the admiral stood there. Deanna turned, at once smiling again, and gestured at her. "Admiral Felton. This is Subcommander Narviat t'Aimne, formerly Tal Shiar. He is here to speak to you as requested."

"Good, good. A pleasure, Subcommander. Please join me," Felton said. Narviat went in and the door closed again.

"Going to adopt a few folks into your house?" Tom said with a grin. "You must be confident in what you sense about them."

She stared at him with an unreadable, but intense, gaze. "There are those who are less ambiguous in their allegiances -- it's not difficult for me to sort through when I have ample opportunity to spend time talking to them."

"You're sure that Betazed would take them in?" Jean-Luc asked.

Her tolerant expression said he hadn't paid enough attention. "Have you looked at the statistics on how many Betazoids are joining Starfleet currently? The state of our recovery from the war? There are fringe groups who are now expressing doubt that we can rely on the Federation as much as we have in the past. I was offered a seat on the council for healthcare and social services. I think that between my mother and my friends in the Sixth House, there will be somewhere for skilled, intelligent people who understand telepaths who are looking for a new home, and because we can all sense how sincere they are, we'll give them one." Deanna turned and walked off toward the lift. "I'm going to the holodeck. I think a run through the countryside would do me some good."

After she rounded the corner and her footsteps faded, Tom leaned against the wall again. "She's pissed. Going after her?"

"Perhaps later."

"Yeah, safer here, even if it's boring. Got to wonder what Admiral Straight and Narrow said that made Deanna start thinking about seceding from the Federation."

"More to the point, is Betazed the only world thinking about it, and if one of our longstanding member worlds is contemplating the stability of the Federation -- how bad has it gotten, really?"

Tom's expression in that moment was serious and aware -- and then he shrugged, leaned his head back to look at the ceiling, whistled tunelessly and tapped his fingers in rhythms on the wall.

Jean-Luc waited the long, uneventful half hour until Narviat emerged. The tall, broad-shouldered former officer seemed to be sad, a definite shift from yesterday's uptick in his general demeanor. "I will get Tarel," he said, heading right down the corridor. Jean-Luc silently joined him and left Tom to wait alone.

In the lift, he said, "Didn't go well?"

"The admiral asked me to tell her what happened, from my perspective. When I finished and asked whether we would be granted asylum, she said that we will be taken to Earth. That Tyreen would be questioned as well, and we are likely to be there for several weeks. And then it would be decided where we would be able to live."

"Decided by whom?"

"Indeed. I prefer the Federation you live in to the one this woman seems to inhabit." 

"It's the same one, though the Dominion War changed perspectives on things for so many, and while I can understand the reticence of admirals to be trusting of anyone after the long list of betrayals and reversals that Starfleet went through, I remain frustrated by the end result. We are not done, Narviat. This is only the first step."

"Thank you," Narviat said. 

The lift opened and unexpectedly Deanna was there. Dressed in the standard issue gray sweats, her hair braided tightly, and arms crossed. The wan smile suggested she knew what was going on, as did her presence in the corridor down from Narviat and Tarel's suite. 

"I thank you for your offer,  _tetya_ ," Narviat said. "She is not reassuring despite her reassurances."

"She is not the only admiral you will speak to," Deanna said, turning as they left the lift to walk with them. "We shall see."

"I did not ask whether M'Ret is actually on his way to see Tyreen."

"I can inquire of Captain Shelby as to whether she has had any communications requesting a rendezvous with another vessel," Jean-Luc said.

Narviat led them into the suite, and the waiting crowd stood up -- Tyreen remained in her chair, but everyone else watched Narviat come to a halt with anxious expressions. He waved his hand. "She is not a friendly admiral, but all is not lost. Our friends are helping." He gestured at his wife. "Tarel, she will ask you the same questions, probably to seek consistency."

"Then I will tell her the truth," Tarel said. She stood up from the couch, glanced at her sister, and came around the coffee table. "You are angry, Deanna."

Deanna smiled at the woman. "In better times it would be different. My feelings are irrelevant."

"The war did change many of us," Toreth said, surprising Jean-Luc. Not that she would understand, but that she would speak up about it.

"Watching fellow officers change in front of our eyes concerned many of my peers -- desperation is a strong motivator," Narviat said. "The admiral is waiting."

"Any advice?" Tarel glanced from her husband to Jean-Luc, to Deanna. 

"Just tell her what she wants to know. We will talk to her again before the end of the day," Jean-Luc said. 

Tarel left the suite. Rather than sit down, as Narviat did, Deanna crossed her arms again and said, "She asked me whether we found any of the Maquis we suspected were working within the Empire."

That piqued the interest of Narviat and Toreth; Tyreen and the others only seemed confused. "The Maquis were expatriate members of the Federation fighting the Cardassians for their worlds along the Demilitarized Zone," Narviat said. "Or so I was told. They are still at large?"

Jean-Luc paced a bit to and fro, considering -- he glanced at Deanna, not feeling comfortable bringing up the latest experience with former Maquis. "There were a few still imprisoned by the Dominion and released at the conclusion of the war. Most were killed while the war was being fought."

"We ran into some of them recently," Deanna added. She didn't seem conscious of putting her hand to the right side of her head, but caught herself and let it drop. "They were arrested. Recently there were indications that some of those remaining were working with unknown entities within the Empire."

Toreth and Narviat looked at each other with twin frowns. "I have heard at times that there were such dealings," Narviat said. "But I discounted it as rumor. Paranoia flourishes where secrecy abounds."

"That would be why I was so angry at the deception when M'Ret defected," Toreth said. "It was more and more the case that the Tal Shiar asserted themselves, used us to their own ends, and left us to pick up the pieces. And there have been rumors lately that foreign agents have been at work -- though the Obsidian Order is rumored to have been destroyed in the war, I would not be surprised if they used the opportunity to disappear and regroup."

"What would these Maquis want, that they are seeking allegiances within the Empire?" Tyreen asked.

"A fair question. One that I have no answer for," Jean-Luc said. He halted again, standing next to Deanna. "They perhaps know that staying in the Federation would mean prison, as most of them committed crimes of one sort or another. Some abandoned their post, left Starfleet and worked against it. Some stole resources to use in fighting the Cardassians."

Deanna was silent. Jean-Luc wondered, not for the first time, about the details of that first mission to Romulus she had been on alone. She'd never shared even part of the story with him. She turned her head, meeting his eyes, and he smiled -- she had that defiant anger in her eyes, of someone tolerating the unreasonable and intolerable.

"It is common for the need to survive to circumvent principle," Narviat commented. "I believe we are on a joint mission to convince our respective governments to return to principle."

The gathered individuals settled into silent consideration of this statement. It was an apt summary, Jean-Luc decided. He saw Deanna's head turn and turned himself, to face the opening door and Tarel, who was returning prematurely and with the admiral behind her. An unexpected development. 

Felton looked around the room, sizing them all up, and smiled. Less reserved, somehow. Tarel went to join her husband on the couch and seemed triumphant. 

"Tarel explained that perhaps I am misunderstanding the situation, and suggested that I meet you as a group." Felton held out her hands, palms up and open, appealing to them. "Are you all unified, in wanting asylum?"

"Forgive me," Toreth said at once with a twist of the lip, "but it would be suicidal to be here if that were not true. Certainly you have acquired information to confirm that the Empire is not merciful to traitors."

"And a traitor is anyone who does not agree with the Proconsuls, or the Senate," Tyreen said. "I have spoken more in the past week than I have in the years my husband has been gone."

Felton turned at long last to Deanna, who stood by with tightly-crossed arms. The standoff took a few moments. The admiral finally broke it. "Your report did not mention that you made promises, you merely recommended that they be allowed to join M'Ret on Betazed."

"I didn't make promises, and I do not believe any of them heard my comments as such. But I am willing to offer them asylum if Starfleet doesn't follow through."

"You are? I understand your mother is influential. But offering anyone asylum? This was a Starfleet operation, and you are still a Starfleet officer."

"Until I am not, yes," Deanna said.

It was a quiet sort of comment, that rattled Jean-Luc more than anything else so far. Tom was right in his guess that she'd been pushed to the brink by this situation. It was one thing to talk of being tired of patrols and wishing for the days of exploration, it was another for her to be subtly pushing back against an admiral.

"Commander," Jean-Luc said, with the most benign and amiable tone he could manage.

Dark glassy eyes at him, but she responded without ire. "Sir."

"You are dismissed."

"I would like the module, please," Felton said.

Deanna's eyes remained focused on Jean-Luc. He held out a hand; she ran her fingers into the base of her braid and produced the isolinear module she'd been holding for days, and put it in his palm. He gave her a nod. She marched out of the room.

Felton watched the exchange; it wasn't lost on her that Deanna had obeyed him, not her. She frowned at him.

"We followed orders and we returned with this." He held out the module. She took it from him, and continued to gaze at him with expectation in her dark brown eyes. "Your vessel, it was destroyed in the war, was it not?"

"Yes," Felton said, a little surprised by the detour.

"Before the war you were on long mapping missions -- did you enjoy that work? First contact, seeing stellar phenomena no one has seen before?"

"Captain," she warned gently.

"None of us are what we were," he said. "I have helped treaties happen and negotiated truces between warring parties. All part of the job, until the war, when we all became soldiers. If you want to understand why the commander is angry, you might consider the history -- we have always been explorers and we would rather continue to be, instead of what we've been forced to become. There were opportunities for individuals to join the Federation and join Starfleet -- citizenship was available to people of worlds not allied with us. Are we really at an increased risk of invasion, if we help M'Ret's wife finally reunite with her husband? There are Romulans within the Federation, Admiral. I had an officer whose grandfather was Romulan. My crew have worked with Romulan officers, rescued them when a warbird experienced malfunctions. I had high hopes that working with them during the war would lead to peace with the Empire, finally. Do you think that anything the commander or I might have done on this mission increases risk to the Federation? Do you imagine we would bring anyone with us, that we suspected would be a risk, "

Felton inhaled deeply and took a step backward, raised her head slightly, and smiled once more. "That isn't the assumption, Captain. I understand why it might seem to be."

"I wonder, given the current atmosphere on Earth, if taking our guests there is wise."

Felton seemed to remember then that the crowd of Romulan onlookers were watching with great interest. "Walk with me, Captain."

When they were out of the room and down the corridor, the admiral put her hands behind her back as she stopped in the empty space between the curved walls, their reflection in the gleaming black surface distorted and faint. "I hear what you are saying, Captain, but I do have orders to follow. Determining the details of what happened during the mission and documenting my findings. It can seem at times that questioning your actions might be accusatory, but I assure you that isn't what I am here to do."

"Do you have the reports from the commander's first mission, some weeks ago?"

"I do. That was a classified mission, need to know only, so I know that she did not speak to you about the details."

"No, she did not. And I suppose I didn't need to know, to participate in the second one. But I have to wonder if the first mission's outcome might be why the second is being questioned so carefully. And it would not be altogether unwarranted to suspect that the reason the information you are holding right now is important might be due to plans to enter into conflict with the Empire, now that their defenses are compromised, resources are slim, and the current government coming under such widespread suspicion by the population. How many defections have there been, how many of their officers might object and refuse to follow orders at the moment? The state of unrest in the Empire would be a prime opportunity -- the Klingons might see -- "

"Captain," Felton interjected sternly. Her gaze turned intense, warning him, but she said nothing for a long moment. Then, interestingly, she went in an unusual direction. "Have any of your new friends said anything about non-Federation incursions into the Empire?"

The Klingons had Federation membership. She had to mean species from the Beta Quadrant or the Maquis. What else was there? "No. We did encounter some former Maquis that seemed to have ties in the Empire, however."

"Yes." Felton considered, her eyes lidded, crossing her arms and bowing her head slightly. "Captain, I do understand your reservations and your line of thinking. I honestly want the same -- peace, and a return to the exploration of the galaxy as Starfleet intended to do. But we both know that doing so without first seeing to the restoration of the worlds hard hit by the war, without laying the foundation for a longstanding peace for the next generations, would be foolish. Real peace will come when there are not worlds with starving people within the Federation."

"But this was not about feeding people," Jean-Luc said quietly. "I cannot think of how information from a computer within the Imperial Palace would benefit starving Cardassians."

Before the war, he would never have pressed an admiral this way. Before the war, he would have had no reason to, absent suspect behavior. Deanna hadn't said anything to him but he knew that the way she had been reacting meant something was off, and if Felton wasn't going to give him enough to reassure, he cared less and less what she thought about him. She gazed at him with an odd little smirk -- surprised, perhaps confused.

"I don't intend to promote, to answer your earlier question," he said. "I don't believe I would be suited to the work."

"Jean-Luc," she began, leaning a little closer. "Look. The reason we need insight into the Empire's status -- we need to know more about their resources and whether they have plans to begin more aggressive forays into Federation space. We also know that they have some of our officers in captivity. We want to negotiate for peace, but also for the release of our people."

"I see." In fact, he didn't -- it was too easy an answer to be completely true. The admiral was still fencing with him.

"There are those who believe there will never be peace with the Empire. But I'm not one of them and I can tell you are not either. Can we work together to that end?"

He smiled -- how many times had this sort of appeal been made by an admiral, and come to nothing, or almost nothing? But he wasn't up for an insurrection at this time. "Yes. Will you be wanting to meet with anyone else, Admiral? Do you have any other questions for the Romulans?"

"I will, however, I will contact you after I review this information to do so."

He watched her walk to the end of the corridor and disappear into the lift. Turning, he went back to Narviat's door. When they admitted him, he found himself under the group's scrutiny once more. Arja, sitting in the far corner, had tears on her face again.

"I hope this is not how it will be," Tarel said. She came forward, perching on the edge of the couch. "Being questioned every step of the way."

"Initially there will be questions," Narviat said. He wasn't as anxious as his wife, leaned against the back of the couch next to her with a sardonic smile. "We knew this."

"Perhaps you should tell us about Earth," Toreth said. She sat in a chair as if sitting on a throne, her arms on the arm rests, legs crossed. "I have spoken to someone who's been there -- he said that it is a beautiful place, with more biomes, more variety, than we have on Romulus."

"Yes, I believe that's so. And I hope that you will have an opportunity to see them all. We could go to France, and I'll share my wine with you."

"Deanna said your family made wine," Tyreen said. "She said it's very good wine. I would like to try it."

Jean-Luc smiled as he took the chair across the table from Toreth. "I have some on the _Enterprise_ so that will be an easy request to fulfill."

"You feel that it would not be a good thing for us to go to Earth," Narviat said. He wasn't trying to deflect or distract himself from the less pleasant possibilities, as the others were.

"Deanna mentioned that there are those on Betazed who question the status of the Federation since the war. There has been a chronic sort of unrest, generally -- paranoia makes people do desperate things. And people who lived lives of ease, without war or major crimes, once they have had their world upended, they become hypervigilant. It's taking a while for things to settle down."

Toreth and Narviat had expressions that said they understood this completely. Narviat said, "It is the same on Romulus. We had heard that the Changelings were infiltrating worlds. That they had one that took the identity of the Klingon chancellor. For a long time after this was known, the Senate began mandatory blood testing for anyone entering the Imperial Palace. And ever since there have been rumors that a Changeling remains on Romulus, stealing information. Though no one could guess why, now that the Dominion has withdrawn."

"Paranoia needs no reason," Tarel intoned.

"With all that said, I do think you would be able to visit Earth, accompanied by security, without incident," Jean-Luc said. "If only because the presence of security officers would be verification that you weren't an invasion force, but an envoy of legitimate guests."

"M'Ret said that there is a place called Hiway that he would like to take me to see," Tyreen said.

It took a moment. "Hawaii. I could see why -- it's the opposite of Romulus. Very lush and green islands in the Pacific Ocean. Most of them are wildlife preserves now. Very scenic. We'll see what we can do."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this plane has taken a few chapters to get close to the ground, the wheels are bouncing on the tarmac.... almost there.

Deanna ran through the forest at almost her full speed, on the familiar path -- Forward Motion Forest was a common program for the holodecks on Starfleet vessels, had a different name actually but one of the _Enterprise_ crew had coined the new name and it was how she thought of it.

At the moment, if the admiral approached her, she was certain her Starfleet career would end.

She bounced on the rocks across the rushing stream and pounded up the hill on the other side, pushing hard, racing through the stand of tall, straight trees -- burst into sunlight at the top and ran along the mile of rolling hilltops. Running away from the knowledge that she had surpassed her previous best efforts in the line of duty and the admiral had 'rewarded' her by deciding that the people they had rescued were to be treated less like refugees and more like enemy combatants.

The history between Starfleet and the Romulan Fleet was long, checkered with collaborations and battles and standoffs, and it should end here, start a new peaceful history, close the old tense book for good. So many reasons to work together, so few to continue the hostility. But Felton was so suspicious, more each time one of them said something that hinted that they cared about what happened to Narviat and the others.

The change had taken the duration of the war to really sink in. She knew that the admirals who had been in place before the war were mostly retired now -- the peacetime admirals, the ones who cared about people other than the ones in the Federation, who genuinely looked at the galaxy as a potential source of allies and friends, were tired of fighting and done. The captains who had promoted at the end of the war were still in 'fight' mode, only on the defense now. She viewed it all in psychological terms -- of course people would be on edge after watching so much destruction. Of course they would be alert and skeptical of old enemies, of course recovery was all the more difficult when it was an entire world, a people, generations of people, trying to recover from trauma of watching friends and family die.

But the admirals, the decision-makers, they should be rational. All the talk about guiding Starfleet back to its original guiding purpose had so far been just talk. She had watched the end result -- over and over, the decisions made, the assignments they'd been given -- worse, she had witnessed Captain Picard feeling frustrated to the point of exhaustion several times over the past year since the war ended. It had become an ongoing, chronic sort of frustration, and of course everyone knew chronic stress was a killer, it had led Starfleet to put counselors on starships, but it was as though the admirals couldn't see it in themselves.

And now -- a mission had come along with potential for starting a real change, in the frustrating, stressful status quo. Having Narviat and Toreth voluntarily joining the Federation could be a real beginning. Post-war, there was a need for hope and this could be something to hang hope on, that at long last the Romulan Empire might build a real relationship with the Federation after so many starts and stops along the way. It felt like a moment that was ripe for great change. But Felton wanted to hesitate, be suspicious, interrogate. The attitude of the ranking officer could make a huge difference in the outcome of any mission, and this had started to feel like just another failure to her. It was hard to hide her disappointment and anger from their new friends.

She slammed her feet down on the path, down the last hill, up the next to the top, and the trail turned from the top of the last green hill to plunge down to the right and into the canyon. She knew the trail would cross the creek and then run parallel to it. As she descended she kept her focus on her balance, as her feet slid in the steep sandy downsloped steps. Once at the bottom she crossed the stream again, followed the left turn in the trail, lengthened her strides and started to really dig her toes down, pushing forward stronger with every step. The sound of her breathing loud in her ears, she ran the final half mile and reached the end of the trail. There was a bench, a table with bottles of beverages on it, a towel -- all the things that one would want after extreme exertion.

And there was Tom Glendenning in uniform, sitting at attention on the bench.

She jolted to a stop, panting, realizing all at once how sweaty and disheveled she was. Her hair had started to come out of the tight braid. "Captain," she said at last, walking to the table to pick up the bottle.

"Commander," he said. He wore the relaxed, smiling expression of the easygoing and comfortable human. He watched her drink, watched her sit on the other end of the bench. "Good workout?"

"More that I was trying to work things off," she said. Tipping the bottle up again, she drank another third of the water.

"I try to do that some days. It helps."

She looked back along the trail, at the trees and the stream, the hills off to the right, and sighed. "Computer, end program."

The computer politely left them the bench they were sitting on but made the landscape vanish, replacing it with the reality of the yellow-on-black grid. Tom waited for her to speak, his hands resting on his thighs, his smile unchanging.

Unusual, for her to be so annoyed by this. But she generally didn't spend time with people when she was this out of sorts. It was a rare thing, to be so angry for a protracted period; she was of the general opinion that her own mood was one of the few things she could control, and she could be rational and impartial only when she remained in control of it. She hadn't come back to her equilibrium yet, however.

"Did you want something?" She attempted nonchalance and suspected he could hear the ire.

"Sure, but I rarely get what I want."

She snorted. "What's going on?"

"Not much. Admiral's reviewing the files you brought back. I think your captain is with the Romulans."

Deanna held the water in her left hand, balancing it on her leg. "What's your assessment? How did we do?"

"Great, all things considered. You'd probably have figured out a way home all right. You do good with the improvising. But maybe my metric isn't the same as the admiral's, entirely."

That wasn't surprising, as hers was obviously different than Felton's as well. "I'm worried about Narviat and the others."

"I can see why. Paranoia is reaching epidemic proportions at Command."

She turned to face him, taking a deep breath and trying to settle down more. "Yes."

"So you're going to quit Starfleet and take them all home?"

Deanna had threatened to do just that. But when Tom said it, she felt differently about it -- she started to think about what that would mean. "They don't deserve to be treated like enemies. I can probably arrange help for them. I'm sure I could take a leave of absence to do so, if I had to."

"You're absolutely certain they are trustworthy."

She gave him the disdainful look he had just earned. This was a question he'd asked before. He'd commented on it again, just an hour ago.

"Apparently yes," he added when she didn't immediately reply.

"It isn't that simple." She didn't mean to sound snappish, but she heard the brittle tone in her words.

"I know."

"It never is, because feelings change. Allegiances can change, or change back. People aren't so predictable. The admiral's attitude could change theirs." She wanted to point out the obvious -- she was certain he wasn't completely trustworthy. But that seemed redundant.

Glendenning laughed, leaning back a little as he shook his head. "Very true. People are unpredictable, especially if there are threats you don't know about, working on them behind your back. One of the problems we've had with the Empire, all those pesky political forces working against each other in the Romulan Senate while the Empire as a whole yoyos between wanting to call a truce with the Federation and resisting it."

"Computer, run a simulation of Betazed -- the Opal Sea, south shore," she said.

Within a minute the bench was in the middle of a long swath of saffron-colored sand, the cloud-streaked blue sky filled with birds in flight. The brilliant turquoise water lapped up almost to her toes.

"Nice," Glendenning said. "Always liked Betazed."

Deanna thought about Jean-Luc -- he was less anxious than when they were with the admiral, and being serious, focused, on task. Very much as he usually was when involved in diplomatic endeavors. Moments like that kept her skating back to hope. And being in touch with him, however briefly, helped her stop wanting to quit her job. She'd been keeping her feelings to herself, trying not to concern him too much with her internal crises and be more focused on the mission herself. It was becoming more difficult.

"When you came back from the first mission you were almost this angry," Glendenning commented.

She exhaled loudly at the thought. The first time she had gone undercover on Romulus, she had watched Tom Riker meet with a contact. Glendenning's briefing hadn't mentioned the Federation agent by name; she'd been shocked to see Tom again, and shocked all over again at how he handled himself. There was a Romulan woman with him who seemed quite at home with him. And it wasn't clear why Starfleet wanted her to watch him. She merely reported all that she had witnessed, including what she had sensed from him, without understanding why, and been thanked for it by Tessora, who had met her at a starbase and departed without fanfare. Tom's vessel had been Tessora's transportation, and Deanna had departed on her own shuttle, with which she had left and returned to the _Enterprise_. The entire mission from end to end had been kept quiet, impressing upon her just how much she didn't know about the more clandestine efforts of Starfleet, and how much she wanted to keep it that way.

Felton's behavior for this debriefing chafed even more, because Tessora had acted as though Deanna had done a superb job, before. And now Felton was fishing around seemingly for a reason to question, hinting that Deanna's empathy was not reliable, and so there were several questions in Deanna's mind as a result. Was she being set up for a fall?

"Makes me wonder what happened, but I know better than to ask. Good thing you don't have to do much of this kind of work, it seems to make you mad."

"You have a very good cover. I'd never have anticipated a man so blunt being so successful in intelligence work," she said with a mercenary grin.

His laughter that time was sincerely delighted. "Yes. Out in plain sight works great."

"What can you tell me about Narviat that you have not told me?" He had said little about the individuals, only talked about how it was supposed to play out, and since joining them he'd offered no commentary on their small group of asylum-seekers. If he was going to be honest, she may as well take advantage.

Glendenning went quiet. She thought, as the silence went on, that he wouldn't answer. But then he spoke. "He was a loyal member of the Tal Shiar all his life. He met Spock when he returned from the Dominion prison camp. The doctors gave him just a year to live -- he exceeded that estimate, and he started to spend more time with family and less with his friends in the military. There was a major shift in his attitude. You like him as he is now. He was an arrogant, swaggering, loud and proud soldier, firm believer in the Empire's right to dominate the quadrant, before he changed."

"People do change for the better at times," she said. "And you don't know whether I would have liked him then or not."

"You seem to like strong-willed men, with a mind of their own, so maybe you'd have enjoyed the Narviat of the past." His tone was itself appreciative.

"If they are honest, yes." She raised her head, swaying slightly back, eyeing him with an open, unsmiling appraisal that he would not mistake for anything else.

He sighed, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly, and returned the look. "I wonder if you understand what your captain really is, to Starfleet."

That was a curious direction to take the conversation. She started to feel as though she might be one of his subjects -- someone to manipulate to the ends of Section 31. And that was a hunch that was easy to trust, she found. "I wonder if you understand what he is to me," she replied, in as benign a tone as she could manage while being angry.

"Captain Picard is what we all aspire to be, when we hit the ground running at the Academy. We humans love our idols -- our great ones, with that unimpeachable principled and rational approach to every conflict. The kids think that's what they will become. Some of them make it. The rest -- we get roped into the crisis of the moment, make mistakes. Get caught up in things. Can't always see what's coming at us til we're overwhelmed, and down the slippery slope we go." Glendenning shrugged. "What he is to you is something different. You were his counselor. Different perspective, but it's also obvious that at least some of the press he gets is true, if you can spend years working with him instead of getting tired of it and moving on to bigger and better things."

He had a way of deflecting that didn't make it sound like he was being dismissive. She wondered if he had ever considered counseling as a profession. "Where are these principled and rational officers of whom you speak? I used to know some. I'd like to know more."

Some of the birds landed on the sand and puttered past them, in wandering little groups seeking food in the shallow waves. She watched them until he answered. "You don't think Shelby or Riker -- "

"So there are two others?"

"It could be argued that the fleet admiral is more or less a straight shooter. Occasional desperate decisions aside."

"I'll concede that she's not made a decision that rivals the Demilitarized Zone for unintended negative consequences. So three others?"

"I like how you think I know everyone with four pips and above that well," he complained mildly.

"You didn't include Tessora or Felton, so I have adequate information for my purposes." She stood up and went around the bench behind him. "Computer, arch."

"I would have told you that neither of them has more than the protection of the Federation in mind at this time, had you asked."

She turned to stare at him. The arch had appeared, but waited with the doors closed for further requests. "Are you trying to recruit me to Section 31?"

He snorted. "No. I was supposed to. But that was someone else's idea, and a stupid one at that. Starfleet needs you just as you are."

Deanna straightened at that, giving him a skeptical head tilt and raised eyebrows.

"Starfleet needs to go back to what it was," he went on. "I agree with you. It needs to be about exploration and making peace, and bringing more member worlds in. It needs to go back to shiny happy people in uniform curing plagues and saving lives. Recruitment won't be the same until it does. We need all the ethical and forward-thinking, rational people we can get, in command. It's the only way the paranoid people will settle down and start being more like you again. And it's going to take time to get it back. So I hope the admiral comes to her senses, and you aren't actually going to quit."

He wasn't lying -- in fact it was the most serious and straightforward she'd sensed him being, and there was a sincerity she'd not seen him him before that came out strongly as he spoke. She looked him in the eye and contemplated, thinking about all the other questions she had wanted to ask him and hesitated.

"Are you going to help us with this?" she asked at last. She expected him to not take it seriously, to deflect, to be uncomfortable.

Instead, Tom Glendenning took a step backward, grinned, swung his arms wide and clapped his hands together in front of him. "When do we start?"

"Really? Your evil overlords won't take exception?"

"You assume the evil overlords are actually evil, instead of dubiously-ethical and fond of shortcuts when it seems the traditional methods will be less likely to succeed."

"I assume they will want you otherwise occupied," she said. "And that when they expect you to shortcut, they may be frustrated that you won't."

"What would they do about it?" There was an undercurrent of emotion that suggested he knew, and that it would not be good, but he also had determination and desperation, which she almost understood as she thought about what it must be like to have been obligated by others to do things that were dishonest, likely at times criminal, in nature.

"Things that might cause you injury?"

"Does Jean-Luc shy away from doing things just because someone might get hurt?"

Deanna turned for the arch. "I'll believe it when I see it." She sensed Jean-Luc feeling anxious, and as she moved into the corridor the red alert klaxon sounded, the red lamps flashed, and she felt the urge to run for the bridge -- but it wasn't her ship. 

"Glendenning to  _Phoenix_." He'd stopped in the holodeck door, and stood waiting for the explanation.

"Sir, we're going to red alert -- a warbird just decloaked."

"Beam me back right now." Glendenning waved in farewell as he vanished in the transporter beam.

Deanna ran for the turbolift anyway. If she couldn't be on the bridge she could be with the Romulans. They would likely need the distraction, the reassurance.

But, the turbolift car turned out to have Jean-Luc in it, along with Narviat.

"We just left the others -- I was about to contact you and ask you to join us," Jean-Luc said as she entered. 

"I'm sorry I'm out of uniform, sir," she said. 

"I don't suppose you have any sense of who is in command on that warbird," Narviat said, giving her a fond smile. He was partly joking, in the way that humans often did under pressure; he was working hard to not appear anxious. Probably not wanting to see a friend coming against his new friends, she guessed.

"I'm sure that will soon be obvious enough," she said. "Also that we will do everything in our power to avoid a battle."

The lift opened on the bridge, and they came out to find Shelby seated and staring at the main viewer -- Deanna hung back, letting Jean-Luc approach the commanding officer of the _Potemkin._ Narviat stayed with her.

"I imagine the protocol is similar, on your vessels, that I should wait and stay out of the way," he mumbled.

"Yes. They'll call on us if we are needed. If we stay here, we shouldn't be in the range of the main viewer."

"It could be a commander being a posturing idiot," Narviat said. "But it would not surprise me if they sent a vessel after us."

"I wonder how they would know we are aboard the  _Potemkin_?" Deanna asked.

"If this is the only Starfleet vessel along the Neutral Zone, it would be an easy guess to make."

The turbolift at the back of the bridge opened, and Admiral Felton arrived -- head up, walking rapidly down the bridge. "Report," she barked.

Elizabeth and Jean-Luc turned to face the admiral; they'd been standing in the middle of the bridge conferring quietly. "A warbird decloaked thirty-five thousand clicks from us and it's pacing us, moving in parallel just on the other side of the Neutral Zone. They haven't hailed us or done anything else, not even running shielded at this point," Shelby said. "We're at red alert but I felt that raising shields or charging weapons was premature."

"I concur," Jean-Luc said. "Signaling hostility would only provoke."

Felton stared at the main viewer. The warbird was magnified quite a bit, obviously; it nearly filled the screen. She noticed Deanna, in her workout clothes, and Narviat, but her eyes flicked away, back to the two captains standing at attention in the middle of the bridge.

"We were about to hail them and offer assistance," Shelby said.

That surprised the admiral, though she did not react outwardly. "Your discretion, Captain," Felton said, turning to face the viewer again.

"Open a channel, Mr. D'karra," Shelby said.

When the security officer complied, the main viewer changed to the interior of a warbird, with Sela occupying most of the frame. Deanna sighed, focusing, crossing her arms and glancing at Narviat then at the admiral and two captains. 

"Subcommander," Jean-Luc said. Because of course he was not supposed to know about her promotion. "This is Admiral Felton and Captain Shelby. Is there something we might assist you with?"

Sela smiled, but Deanna could tell there was frustration and anger behind the expression. "Captain Picard. We meet again -- it has been a while. I confess I thought it would not happen again."

"I am as surprised as you," he said amiably. 

"I am looking for a shuttle that fled Romulus a few days ago. Have you perhaps taken aboard anyone claiming to be a refugee?" She sounded as though it was an everyday occurrence.

"Claiming?" Jean-Luc echoed. 

"We have been assigned to worse details, but annoying as it is, there was an escape at one of the prisons, and we are helping to patrol the Neutral Zone to find the vessel and return them."

Deanna shook her head automatically at that. It was a blatant lie, of course. 

"No, we haven't run into anything like that. We did meet with a small vessel owned by a former military commander, however," Jean-Luc said, keeping his tone pleasant. "She and her family requested passage. The admiral is here to meet with them prior to allowing them to apply for Federation citizenship."

Sela's expression of faux concern was barely adequate to conceal the fury. It took her a few seconds to find composure. "How unusual, that someone would leave their family behind in this manner."

"In any case, we have not seen your shuttle. But we will contact you if we do."

The implicit dismissal wasn't enough -- Sela hesitated. "Captain."

Jean-Luc had started to turn toward the admiral, but he looked up again, as if surprised. "Yes?"

"What are the names of these defectors?"

"I'm not certain they would want me to tell you that," he said. 

"Criminals would be concerned. Citizens would have nothing to hide."

Jean-Luc glanced at the admiral again. Felton was at a loss; she clearly was out of her depth with Sela. "I wonder if citizens wanting to cease citizenship may be labeled criminals by the Empire. Has it changed, within the Empire? I understood the Tal Shiar, who were tasked with enforcing loyalty to the Empire, took a great loss in the Dominion War."

"You speak very openly for one who does not understand -- it is true, things have changed since the war. But clearly not in ways you think it has."

Jean-Luc held open his arms briefly, appealing to her. "Then perhaps you could educate me. Do citizens have the ability, the freedom, to make choices of this nature? To come and go as they wish? To emigrate to the Federation?"

Sela stared at him for a long silent time, outwardly impassive. "If there are those who wish to terminate their citizenship that would seem to me to be disloyal," she said at last.

"There were many Federation citizens who decided to stop being citizens. The ones who committed crimes against the Federation were the only ones we pursued. It's difficult to see why we would want to punish someone for not wanting to live in the Federation any longer, that seems cruel." Jean-Luc crossed his arms. He glanced at Deanna as he spoke, and she sensed an expectation.

 _What do you want?_ If she initiated contact, she knew he would be able to respond in kind.

_Ask Narviat if he would like to speak to her._

She looked at Narviat -- he was watching the face of the woman who had dined in his home, not so very many days before. She whispered, "Do you believe it would do any good to talk to her? Would you like to?"

Narviat blinked, gave it a moment's thought, and said, just as quietly, "It may lead to the word spreading faster than wildfire if her bridge crew knows that I am leaving. Regardless of how she feels on the matter, I think it would help."

"Then go stand with him." She gestured at Jean-Luc. "He asked if you wanted to."

"How is Sela feeling?"

Deanna smiled at that. "She is angry, annoyed that she has to be nice to the captain. She was upset that he is here, perhaps hoped it would be a captain who'd never met her or been a victim of her treachery."

Narviat nodded once, and stepped forward. As he moved into view Sela reacted immediately -- an audible huff, and she exclaimed, "Narviat!"

"Yes," Narviat said, turning to face the main viewer. "And you may inform your colleagues that no state secrets have been given away in exchange for anything. I don't share your opinion -- it is not a crime to leave behind a government that criminalizes people based on their opinions."

"Well," Sela said, calming herself. "I see that I am not so good a judge of character as I believed."

"Another point on which I will disagree. So you should go, and report as you will -- if in the future it becomes true that the Empire allows its people to prosper while being loyal subjects of the Empire, rather than fear for their own lives if they question, I would hope to return. Because there is nothing to gain from the Empire's continued aggression against people who were our allies during the war. This ongoing fear of the Federation is pointless. People are afraid of the Senate more than they are of the Federation, and the posturing is tiring and tedious."

"You sound like one of the dissidents that have been plaguing Romulus," she said. 

"And I honestly mean as I say, unlike those of us who pretend we are -- as you do, when you speak to those in the movement for the purpose of undermining it!"

The connection was terminated abruptly. Narviat sighed as he turned to Jean-Luc. "If there is evil, she is an example. Devious and hateful."

"Mr. D'karra?" Shelby said.

"The warbird cloaked -- nothing on sensors, sir. Captain Glendenning is hailing."

While the problem of too many captains sorted itself out, Deanna leaned against the bulkhead and waited, as the adrenalin stopped and she began to feel tired again. Narviat came back to her, having had his moment, and patted her shoulder paternally. "This wears on you," he muttered. 

"We should go, but I was asked to be here, so I need to be dismissed," she said. "Any regrets?"

He snorted at her question. "I regretted a little, but after Sela -- not at all. She settled any remaining reticence on my part to be done with the Empire. It is obvious that we would be imprisoned, if we survived the interrogation."

Admiral Felton heard him as she approached, and Deanna came off the wall to attention. "Commander, if you and the subcommander would come with me."

"Sir." Deanna followed the admiral into the turbolift to her left, and Narviat came in last.


	13. Chapter 13

"The admiral finished with the goods yet?"

They were in Elizabeth's ready room, sitting on her couch and easy chair with the bottle Tom had brought with him, having their own unofficial debrief. Jean-Luc kept worrying about Deanna and not getting a response from her, which said that whatever she was discussing with the admiral had her full attention. He sipped the rye whiskey and let Elizabeth answer.

"We don't know. The red alert brought her to the bridge. She took Narviat and Deanna with her back to her conference room after the confrontation."

"So still hanging out waiting," Tom said with a shrug. "The life of the taxi driver."

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at the man. "You have a strange way of looking at things."

"Nicest thing you've ever said to me, Liz," Tom said, grinning and waggling the glass around at her.

Elizabeth scowled at the liberty he'd taken. They weren't even on a first name basis, that Jean-Luc could tell.

"I hope this ends soon, for our guests' sakes," Jean-Luc said. "I expect Sela will still be shadowing us until this is done and we are off the zone."

"Looking for an opportunity. She's never going to want to be our friend, that's right out, and the more folks back home on Romulus think about peace and Federation alliances, the less she likes it, the more prone to attacking enemies of the Empire she and others like her will be. Attacking and then telling the Senate and the Tal Shiar that we provoked the attack would be a great way to get another dozen years of blatant hostility going."

"You sound like you know her," Elizabeth said. "I've never seen her before today."

"Jean-Luc knows her," Tom said.

"I know less than one would expect. She isn't likely to have much respect for humans," Jean-Luc said. "I half-expected she might be part of the surveillance goal for the mission."

Tom snorted. "Already covered."

"I see," Elizabeth said, implying with her tone that she suspected it was done in a way she wouldn't approve.

"Someone like her, you have to watch her all the time. Watcher can't do double duty and run errands that risk blowing his cover, so someone else has to break into their computer. The lucky asshole probably has a headache now, listening to her swear about losing Narviat." Tom chuckled, as he slumped in the chair and balanced the tumbler of whiskey on the arm.

Jean-Luc almost flinched -- Deanna startled him.  _Where are you?_ She was upset, and he suspected the admiral was why.

_In the ready room._

Within minutes the annunciator went off, as Shelby picked up the bottle; she put it down again along with her empty glass. "Come."

Deanna came in looking ready for a round of mok'bara. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, "Captain Glendenning, the admiral would like to speak to you."

"Right." He plunked the glass on the table near the bottle and jumped up, suddenly looking not at all drunk, and left the ready room.

"Have a seat," Elizabeth said. 

Deanna dropped into the chair Tom had vacated and glared at the whiskey.

"I've hardly had any, by the way," Jean-Luc said. "Are you all right?"

Deanna rolled her eyes and glared at the floor. "I thought she was starting to understand. Narviat explained some of why he left the Tal Shiar, why he feels as he does about the Empire. I explained how it came about that we have Arja and Tet, and Darani. She's conceded that Tyreen should be allowed to join her husband, but still intends to take Toreth and Narviat to Starfleet Command, even though he is more than happy to give them what little information might be useful and Toreth begrudgingly agrees to do the same. Neither one of them has been active duty for a long time, so they have little to offer."

"It isn't as though they will torture him," Elizabeth said. "Just a delay, right?"

"Unless the Section decides they are somehow interfering with some plan of theirs. Something is going on, and it's not just Felton's behavior that makes me suspect more than meets the eye."

"While there are some irregularities I'm not sure -- " Jean-Luc stopped talking when she gave him impatient eyes.

"I can't talk about the first mission," she said. "If I could, you would understand."

"Then it was related to this one?"

Elizabeth simply sat listening, with a slight frown. Deanna had the tortured look of someone who really wanted to find a way out of her situation, and Jean-Luc wished there was more he could do but had very little to offer her. 

"We will be going with the admiral when she leaves," Deanna said. "On the  _Phoenix_."

"Then I should contact the  _Enterprise_ again, once we've talked to Tom. Update them on when and where to meet us." Jean-Luc stood up. "Elizabeth, thank you."

"Any time you need rescuing," she said with a smile. "Next time we'll get a poker game going."

They had enough time for a farewell, and as they left the bridge the page came -- they reached the corridor where their band of refugees were housed, in time to escort Narviat, Tarel and the others to the transporter room. The transfer took little time, and a short blond man met them in the transporter room, to show them to their new quarters. Which were of course smaller, as Tom's ship was older.

"Reminds me of the older warbirds," Narviat said, looking around his much-smaller living space. The upholstery was in good shape but done in older colors, ocher, black and gray.

"We are down the corridor, fourth door on the left," Jean-Luc said. "If you need anything contact us."

Tarel turned from the replicator with a cup, holding it up as if toasting him. "This is Captain Glendenning's vessel? He likes Romulan food. This is better than what we had on the  _Potemkin_."

"Good. Perhaps the vinerine will be better," Toreth said. Her quarters were next door. Arja, Tet and Tyreen had been shown to their quarters on the way to Narviat's.

"When do we reach your vessel?" Tarel asked, heading across the room to sit on the couch with her husband.

"We should be at the starbase tomorrow. I intend to have them meet us there," Jean-Luc said. He turned for the door. "I'll see you at dinner."

He went down to the suite that the officer had designated as his, and walked in. Definitely not the equal of his own, but better than many places he'd had to sleep over the years. He checked around and did not see Deanna so left again and headed for the bridge.

Tom was in his ready room. Jean-Luc ignored the way all the bridge officers snapped to attention, went to the ready room door, and signaled -- as he came inside he noted the lack of personal decoration. Tom stood up from the desk with a grin.

"I just talked to Tessora, or I would have been there to welcome you aboard. Finding everything okay?"

"We're all aboard and in quarters. Was the admiral changing your orders? If we're to be delayed I should let the _Enterprise_ know."

"Naw, she wanted to check in to see about the non-confrontational confrontation with the warbird. Shelby's report must have hit her desk."

Jean-Luc smiled at that. "I wanted to ask a favor?"

Tom shrugged. "Sure, what's up?"

"Would you mind if we used your dining room at dinner?"

"Not at all. I was going to ask if y'all were interested in a party. Leaving the Neutral Zone celebration. Eighteen hundred hours, then?"

"You're bringing the liquor?"

"Romulan ale all around," Tom said with his lopsided grin and a wave of his hands. "As long as we don't invite the admiral. Don't think she will mind being excluded, I invited her when we picked her up, the usual senior office soiree that you're supposed to have when an admiral shows up. She declined. Felton's the type who hides in her quarters."

"Perhaps best for all concerned. I'll see you later."

Jean-Luc left the bridge again, and rode the lift back to deck seven. "Computer, where is Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is on deck seven, section two, cabin four."

He arrived at the door of the quarters he had been given, and went to the next cabin. The door didn't immediately open, so he stood and waited; after a few moments it became apparent that she was either asleep or not paying attention, so he touched the panel. 

The door opened, and he went in, to find her seated on the couch. "I set it to let you in -- I didn't realize they had given us separate quarters," she said.

"Tom probably doesn't have a lot of guests aboard, and it wouldn't surprise me if he had neglected to assign us the same cabin because he assumes we wouldn't want everyone to know about us." He moved around the coffee table to sit with her. "I arranged to use the dining room. We obviously don't have space for all of us to have dinner in quarters. One more day and we're home."

She smiled, and he found it encouraging that she was happy about that. "Are you inviting the admiral to dinner?"

"I suppose that would be expected, wouldn't it?"

Deanna's smile turned sad, and she glanced down at the padd she'd been holding. "I wish that I could be as optimistic as I once was. I'm trying."

"It's not over yet. We have three hours before dinner. What would you like to do?"

"I suppose watching me sleep is getting boring," she said with a smirk. "You could join me in a routine uniform inspection."

"Routine.... Dee?"

She stood up and took off the jacket, worked the shirt off over her head, held it up. "See what I mean?" She unhooked the front clasp of her bra. Stood up straight as she peeled it off.

"I see," he said, getting up -- he put a hand to her breast as she dropped the bra on the couch with the shirt and jacket. "So far, so good."

"I hope I pass the inspection," she murmured, leaning into his hand.

"The last one was several weeks ago. I think you have a good chance."

He had a hand on her buttock and they were kissing as her efforts went to unfastening his jacket. The bond was starting to tingle down his spine when the computer beeped. "Felton to Picard."

That brought an end to it, as they each stepped back, looking at each other with frustrated acceptance. "Picard here."

"Please report to my quarters."

Deanna's eyebrow rose. He didn't like the sound of it either, but said, "I will be there shortly." He waited while Deanna redid the jacket, leaned in for a brief kiss and headed for the door.

Felton's suite was on deck six, the computer told him. When he was admitted he found the admiral out of uniform, wearing a green dress and high-heeled shoes, and for a brief moment he contemplated turning around and leaving without a word. But he came to attention, standing just inside the door, and waited for her to speak.

She studied him for a few seconds, appraising him with wide eyes, but said, "I thought you should know that I have made my recommendation to Admiral Tessora. It's obvious that you are better informed as to the nuances of Romulan politics, and the admiral agrees with you that Narviat and the others are likely to have little useful information to warrant extended questioning."

Jean-Luc nodded acknowledgment, rather than expressing his feelings. "Then what will be the next step?"

"Admiral Tessora said that taking them to Betazed would be acceptable. En route, you will have each of them do the necessary applications. Command will send someone to interview each of them regarding their application for citizenship." Felton poured herself some wine, while she spoke. "Would you care for some Chardonnay?"

"No, thank you, Admiral." Jean-Luc's shoulders were rigid, his stance starting to feel uncomfortable, and he wondered when she would get the hint. He suspected she had been holding out on informing him of her decision until now, staging this little scene, and he did not care for it at all. 

"You are dismissed, Captain -- but you are welcome to stay." She was back to that smile she'd had when she'd come aboard the  _Potemkin_. 

"Thank you, sir," he said again, turning for the door.

He realized as he reached the lift that he hadn't mentioned dinner. Then decided he didn't care. It wasn't his vessel, after all. He was under no obligation to play host. He hoped that Tom would hold to not inviting her.

Deanna had a dish of ice cream the size of his head, when he came in. She looked up as she pulled the spoon from her mouth. "You escaped," she said.

"Yes, it was obvious I was more than welcome, but she wanted too much."

Deanna wasn't surprised or amused by this. "I'm sorry."

"She saved her revelation that she was going along with our recommendations, after all. We're taking them to Betazed after all. Tessora decided we aren't clueless. So it worked out as we thought it should, and you seem to have finished inspecting your uniform without me."

"The uniform yes, it was all exactly as it should be. But I have an itch to scratch now." She took the bowl with her, heading into the bedroom and giving him an opportunity for inspection without her uniform.

It was, he decided much later when he awoke from a brief post-coital nap, a much more enjoyable kind of inspection. Betazoid itch-scratching had become his favorite task. He stretched a little, moving his hand down from Deanna's breast to her belly, sliding it up to her hip and thigh. It woke her and she hummed softly, laying on her side spooned up against him with his face in her hair. 

"Anything else you wish me to scratch?" he murmured.

"Sweet man. No itches, but you are thirsty and I need a moment to myself."

They went in different directions, and he returned from the replicator with water as she returned from the bathroom. He touched her hair, as she came up to him and slipped her arm around his waist, pressing herself against his bare skin. "Feeling better, I see."

Her lazy giggle said contentment. "I am indeed. We should perhaps shower and get dressed. Unless you need any further attention?"

He sighed, and wished for the energy of his youth. "I would like to need it, but I will let you use the shower first. I'll get clean uniforms from the replicator."

"What did they say when you told them they were going to Betazed as we planned?"

He laughed, as she started to turn away, and she stopped to look at him. "I didn't tell them yet. All I could think about was coming back here to tell you -- and then you were distracting enough that I forgot about them."

"Then we'll go tell them next."

"We should, yes. Dinner will be a celebration then."

Deanna gave him the very happy smile he loved to see, and asked the computer for a dress -- she ordered it by ID number, and what came out of the replicator was a long-sleeved, form-fitting dress in deep blue, with matching tights and shoes, that reminded him of outfits she used to wear, years ago when life was simpler and less likely to involve admirals who were as uninvolved as they could be without being in the Delta Quadrant.

He showered while she dressed, emerged in time to watch her roll on the hose and put on the shoes, put on his own uniform while she did her makeup. Watching her get ready continued to make him smile, sitting on the end of the bed waiting as she brushed out her hair and put it up. She'd never commented on his habit but as she stood up from the dressing table, putting the second silver hoop in her right ear, she watched him approach with a fond smile and finally pointed it out.

"Why does it make you so happy to watch me put up my hair?"

"I suppose because it means you just got out of my bed."

She turned on a toe, to walk with him out of the bedroom. Her skirt flared around her ankles and kissed his calf. "Simple pleasures."

While they were walking down the corridor away from their door, Narviat emerged. He and Tarel had clearly spent more time with the computer; he wore a suit resembling the uniform. He watched them approach, grinning as they drew closer.

"You look happy, _tetya_. Good to see."

"We have been informed that you will be coming to Betazed with us, instead of going to Earth," Deanna said. "No need for the extensive questioning."

Tarel came out as she spoke, and Narviat laughed, turning to catch her in his arms and swing her around. It was the most demonstrative thing they'd seen the couple do. Tarel endured the behavior and laughed with him, and continued to grin as the four of them started to walk together.

"Tom is bringing the Romulan Ale," Jean-Luc said.

"We may regret it in the morning, but this is an occasion," Narviat exclaimed.

"Where did Tom get it? Isn't it contraband in the Federation?" Tarel asked.

"I'm not sure why, there seems to be a good amount of it crossing the Neutral Zone often enough that it shows up in the hands of officers," Deanna said.

"Maybe we should set up a business on Betazed and sell it," Tarel said. "It sounds as though there is a market for it."

 


	14. Chapter 14

"We're on deck eight, where the senior officers are housed. This is one of our diplomatic suites," Deanna said, leading Tyreen into the quarters she'd assigned to the older woman. She'd put Darani across the corridor so he would be close to her.

Tyreen had been happier since they'd confirmed she would be seeing M'Ret soon. Her husband was on his way in a commercial vessel, just hours away now, and the _Enterprise_ was about to depart from the starbase to meet it. The older woman walked around the large living space examining the decor and slowly came back to Deanna. She wore a beautiful green and blue wrap and had always worn a similar style, for the duration of their journey. Unlike the others her demeanor reminded Deanna of Vulcans she had known -- it led her to realize she had only ever met active military officers, never the older generations of Romulan society.

"When your husband arrives, we'll contact you. Do you want to meet him in the transporter room, or should we bring him here to you?"

"I would like to wait here for him." Tyreen gazed at her with critical eyes. She was serious by nature -- her demeanor reminded Deanna of Jean-Luc in serious moments, her sharp gaze taking everything in. "May I ask you something, Commander?" Unlike the others, she had always referred to Deanna by rank, even when invited to use her name.

"Of course."

"Do Betazoids bond telepathically with their mates?"

"They often do, particularly when the other is also Betazoid."

"Spock observed that Romulans often do not, but Vulcans always do. I wonder at times whether a more widespread practice of bonding would have led to a less suspicious attitude toward others."

Deanna thought about all the times one of her friends or mentors on Betazed had made similar observations about other species. "It would also change things, to have a society of telepaths who could tell immediately whether the person in front of them might be lying or hiding something. On Betazed people have an expectation of privacy, but there is still a basic sense of people that we have. We have no reason to be dishonest with each other."

"It makes me wonder why you joined Starfleet." Tyreen finally smiled at her. "A lonely life for a Betazoid."

How odd, to meet other species on an ongoing basis as part of her career, and only find this easy understanding with a Romulan civilian seeking asylum. "It can be. I've adapted."

"M'Ret tells me he has adapted as well. That being able to be completely at ease, without fear of being labeled a traitor for disagreeing with the Praetor, has been worth defecting, even if leaving everything he had before was the price. I have eased my own heart about leaving Romulus by watching you."

"Me?"

"As we traveled you became more at ease, and now you are this happy -- the people you introduce us to, on these vessels, are all at ease. They trust you and you trust them." Tyreen paused, her eyes distant. "I was born into a poor family, Commander. I had nothing. When I met M'Ret he thought I was a daughter of the house my mother worked for, and I did not tell him otherwise. We continued to talk, the daughter of the house was my friend and didn't tell anyone."

"Many Federation cultures grew out of social stratification as you describe -- my own family was originally one of the ruling families. For the past few centuries our involvement in the government has been voluntary -- my great-grandmother was a farmer. My mother participates as one of our governmental representatives but is also a Federation ambassador."

"And you are here, in the service of the Federation as an officer." Tyreen sidestepped to the easy chair and sat. "What would you do if not Starfleet?"

"I've actually considered that a lot lately. I have been offered positions -- as an instructor at Starfleet Academy, on Betazed in our government. I might also continue as a counselor but as a civilian, on Earth or on Betazed. Possibly a colony." Deanna perched on the edge of the cushion on the chair facing her. "An ambassador, perhaps."

"You could so easily choose to be any of those," Tyreen said wonderingly.

"What one needs in the Federation is willingness and training -- qualified individuals have opportunities." It was one of the things the others had mulled over out loud, while they were all traveling together. Last night's dinner conversation had been more of the same.

"In a world where opportunities to learn are numerous, I can see how this could be so. We have so few opportunities -- the military or the sciences. I was suitable for neither."

"You could go back to school." Deanna smiled, remembering some of the older students she'd been in the psychology program with. "Changing careers is not unusual. Betazoids are long-lived and many of the students in my program had already switched careers before."

Tyreen nodded, accepting this but obviously not investing herself in the opportunity. She was tired, had been for most of the journey. "I think I will first spend time with my husband. Too many years apart already. Then I will consider other options. Thank you, for answering my questions."

"We'll let you know when he's aboard. Please let me know if you need anything."

Tyreen was still watching her as Deanna reached the door and glanced back as she left. There was more to M'Ret's wife than anyone suspected, she thought. She found herself reviewing the time she had spent with the Romulans -- it had never been just herself and Tyreen, and the woman rarely spoke unless asked a question. She thought that it would be prudent to do some investigating before M'Ret arrived.

When she reached the bridge, Deanna paused at the security station, where deLio stood at his station. He looked up from the console as she approached. "Commander," he said.

"A request, if you would. I'd like you to do a sensor sweep of the guest quarters on deck seven."

"Are we concerned about any particular issue?" deLio asked.

"I would like to know if you find anything that is not normally present aboard a Federation starship. Or anything that could be used to kill someone."

"It will take twenty minutes to be thorough," he said. "I will inform you the results."

"Thank you." Deanna went down the bridge to the ready room door and signaled for entry.

Jean-Luc was at his desk with a cup of tea, and it made her smile -- it was so much what she needed to see. "Captain."

"Would you care for tea? What's up? I didn't expect to see you til this evening."

They were having a reception rather than a dinner -- taking their guests to Ten Forward for a concert that was already scheduled, though Jean-Luc wouldn't be playing in it, having been absent from practices for a while. Jean-Luc smiled at her as she sat in her usual chair, the one on the left, and folded her hands in her lap.

"I escorted everyone to quarters, and they're all settled in. I spent a few minutes with Tyreen, alone, for the first time."

He understood where she was going at once. "And?"

"I asked deLio to run a sensor sweep, for anything unusual."

"Which we should do anyway, because knowing that our trust hasn't been misplaced is important. Although I suspect that Tom did the same thing aboard his ship, and Elizabeth likely also did so." He sipped tea and set his cup aside again. "I suppose if anyone could smuggle a weapon through a transporter, it would be a Romulan. But to what end?"

"A grudge against her husband for leaving her in disgrace, or an act of loyalty to the state by executing him?"

The annunciator sounded and Data joined them. Deanna smiled up at the android as he came to attention beside her chair. "Counselor," he said in greeting. "Sir -- we are ready to leave the starbase. All personnel are aboard, including the transfers."

"Good. Set course for Betazed, Mr. Data. No particular hurry -- let me know when we've made the rendezvous with the _Norbitandra_ ," Jean-Luc said.

"We would be there in five days at warp five," Data said. He smiled down at Deanna. "Will you be resuming your counseling schedule? I have missed our appointments."

"Data, are you sure you want to continue? You've been doing so well. I don't think you need socialization lessons," Deanna said.

"Then perhaps you would be willing to help me improve my chess game?"

She beamed at him, for being Data, seeking out the company of a friend. "That would be acceptable. Would you like to start tomorrow? I intend to take a couple of days off from counseling so I am free most of the day. Lunch in Ten Forward?"

"I will see you then. We will be under way shortly, sir."

"Dismissed." Jean-Luc watched the first officer exit the room. "It's good to be home, although I have a lot of messages to respond to. I spoke to Admiral Tessora briefly. She said that we did well, and asked if I felt that Starfleet Intelligence would be a good fit for you, if you had an interest."

"I hope you told her no. It's so good to be back, I can't begin to tell you how much better I feel, just being here."

He sighed, and his expression told her even if she weren't an empath that he felt the same. "How do our guests feel?"

"This moment?" Deanna paused to take stock. "Narviat and Tarel are feeling hopeful. Tet and Arja are feeling less anxious, though I can tell they still have reservations. Darani is the same, but I think he is more anxious for his employer than himself. Tyreen is complicated. Calm, excited, but it is not the kind of excitement I would expect, not entirely. Some of the eager sort of anticipation, but the longer she travels the more she starts to feel an odd undercurrent of reticence. Anticipating something with what starts to feel like dread. She may be having second thoughts, may not be certain of her husband, after all this time has passed. Leaving her home for a man who may have changed more than she anticipates may become a regret. It may be that one of the times she spoke with him, he said something that made her start to think in different directions."

"Or it may be something else. Hence the scan."

It was coincidence, of course, but the annunciator sounded and it was deLio, coming in to report. He stood where Data had, to the left of Deanna's chair. "I have completed a sensor sweep of deck seven. There is nothing detectable that is out of place -- no weapons, no biological agents."

"That's a relief. Thank you, Mr. deLio."

The L'norim nodded. "Will you require security to be present at the reception?"

"No, thank you. I would like you to be in the transporter room when M'Ret comes aboard, however."

"Yes, sir."

"That will be all."

 deLio left the ready room. After the door closed, Deanna moved on to the next concern. "I contacted the Fourth House on Betazed."

"Not the Fifth?"

"Mother is on Risa with the Diplomatic Corps for their annual soiree, having fun. And M'Ret has been living in Fourth Province. I believe he has been working to help them recover from the invasion. The Fourth House was hit hard."

"You didn't tell me all the details. Of course... I didn't ask. So your confidence in Betazed taking them had a lot to do with this, and I should have asked why. Tell me about the Fourth Province."

"We have cousins in Fourth Province. Mother's cousin Diwa is the Daughter of the Fourth House, her brother Cort was elected into the senate on Betazed. Between the two of them we should be able to find at least temporary housing for our friends, until the forms are processed and they can live as citizens." Deanna stopped as he started to feel dismayed. He had never asked for a lot of details about Betazed, and sometimes she wondered when they would get around to that. It appeared that the time had come. She thought that his dismay might be about not having asked about it before.

"It's interesting, don't you think, that Felton reversed her position so quickly," he said, proving her incorrect. He was thinking about Felton, still. The admiral had stayed on Glendenning's vessel,

"Felton was interesting for a number of reasons." Deanna had had difficulty articulating what it was about the admiral she found most disturbing. "She had no reaction to the Romulans. No sympathy, for the conditions in the Empire."

"I was thinking about what she did -- calling me to her quarters, inviting me to stay. It's odd. Shocking, really, as I'd had no hint that she -- well." He shifted slightly in his chair, uncomfortable just thinking about it.

"What did Tessora say about Felton?"

"Nothing about her, really. Just about the outcome of the debriefing."

Deanna thought for a moment. "Did she really say anything about the debriefing?"

Jean-Luc's head came up ever so slightly. "What are you thinking?"

"What did Tom say about Felton?"

"He said -- " Jean-Luc hung there thinking, his mouth open, the wheels turning frantically -- there was that shift to realization, that sometimes happened when he intuitively put things together. "Computer, give me the service record of Vice Admiral Felton."

"Vice Admiral Selena Felton. Born April 2, 2322, on Fortus Prime. Graduated Starfleet Academy in 2342 and assigned to the USS _Lydia Sutherland_. Promoted to lieutenant in 2347. Promoted to lieutenant-commander in 2351. Transferred to Starbase 159 in 2355. Promoted to commander in 2361. Transferred to the USS _Saratoga_ in 2365. Promoted to captain in 2369 following the death of Captain Carroway. Promoted to Vice Admiral in 2374, Starfleet Operations. Transferred to Starfleet Security in 2376."

"Computer, pause. Show me a picture of Vice Admiral Felton." Jean-Luc stared at his monitor for a long tense moment, his eyebrows climbing, then he shoved it around so Deanna could see. The image was not the woman who had come to talk to them -- Selena Felton had dark skin, a broad smile, curly black hair.

"It has to be the Section," Deanna whispered. "What did Tom say to you about her?"

"He told me that Starfleet would be questioning the Romulans, picking apart what they say instead of what we say. What if he meant that she wasn't Starfleet?"

"Computer, is Vice Admiral Selena Felton the only Admiral Felton currently on active duty?" Deanna asked.

"Affirmative."

Deanna closed her eyes, thinking about how easy it had been to pull off. Of course, Tom had brought her -- on a real Starfleet vessel, introducing her as an admiral, so why would anyone question?

"Why did he tell me that?" Jean-Luc asked softly.

"I told him to help us. He gave me this speech, about how the Federation needs heroes, people who live up to the principles and the high standards, people who save others -- we need starship captains more than ever who do the right thing. I asked if he would help us and he quite happily asked when we would start. I think he might have started before then -- he likes us, and he tells us the truth about things. He came to help us out of the Romulan Empire." Deanna crossed her legs, leaning back in the chair a little. "The faux Felton started to question you about whether you rely on my ability to sense emotion to guide you. Gaines tried to pry into our relationship, to investigate whether it's interfering with our duties. Tom had to come all the way back to the Empire and hustle us out of there -- what did he hear, why did he have to do that really? I think the real question at the bottom of all this is why we are being targeted by Section 31."

Jean-Luc sat like a statue for a moment, gazing at her while he thought about it more. "And the other question would by why Tom is suddenly working against them, but the answer is already there."

"He thinks we're good people, and he hardly ever sees those any more."

"Mmm, I don't know if that was exactly it -- if you'd worn that red dress the first time I saw you, I have a hunch the past decade would have been very different," he said with a wicked smile.

"Captain," she scolded.

"Do not underestimate yourself, Deanna. Now -- should I, or should I not tell Admiral Tessora about the Felton briefing?"

Deanna sighed and lost her smile. "I think not. Consider the ramifications of that for a while."

Then it struck him, and took away his composure for a moment. "Deanna -- you gave her the module."

"I did not. I gave her the one that Tom gave to me, that I did not use. I have the real one in the dish with my earrings."

He exhaled loudly. "That was a risk, Deanna."

"No, it wasn't -- she left and she did not say a word to us, and here we are," she said, spreading her hands. "If she had asked, I could have said I made a mistake, sorry, I'll get the real one. And then give her a copy."

"There are times that I wish I had never heard of that section of the charter," he said, rising as he picked up his cup. "Tea?"

"Only if it's chamomile. I'm trying to understand how we could possibly be a danger to the Federation, now."

"If we were an actual danger, we would be gone by now, I think. If all they are doing is looking at us I don't think we're in much danger. Computer, one Earl Grey, one chamomile tea, hot."

Deanna watched him return, accepted the cup from him, and looked up at him as he leaned against the leading edge of his desk. "Perhaps they think we might be a risk, if we turn into a bad example for the fleet. Perhaps someone thinks our relationship is going to encourage more bridge officers to do the same and there will be even more problems than we have now."

"Now, that, I could see how they'd get there -- but -- hm." He sipped his hot tea, gazing off at his fish tank, deep in thought.

"We'll just make sure nothing inappropriate happens. We're not unruly teenagers who can't control ourselves," she said.

"Yes. This past mission for Intelligence was a case in favor of just that point." He smiled down at her. "All paranoia aside, we can't let anyone else's opinion change things. We have a job to do. We'll keep doing it to the best of our ability. And anything further that comes up can be dealt with. Now -- I see from the view outside that we are dropping out of warp, so we should go meet M'Ret."

 


	15. Chapter 15

The man who materialized on the transporter pad was not at all like any Romulan Jean-Luc had ever met. M'Ret was smiling and laughing, as he stepped down and looked at those waiting to greet him. "Captain," he exclaimed, holding out a hand as he approached. "M'Ret, of House Nai. Thank you for bringing my wife to me."

Jean-Luc shook his hand firmly, returning the smile. "Welcome aboard. This is Commander Data, my first officer, Lieutenant-Commander deLio, chief of security, and Commander Troi, ship's counselor. While you are with us, you may contact any of us, if you need anything."

"Hello, my friends," M'Ret said warmly. At this point, so close to seeing the wife he'd left behind years ago, he was so happy that Jean-Luc suspected he might greet his worst enemy with a smile. The joy was so odd to see on the face of a Romulan -- he had kept the short, carefree hairstyle of a soldier but wore a dark blue tunic embroidered with green and darker blue leggings and black boots. He spent a few extra seconds taking in Data and deLio, but did not comment. "Commander Troi, my wife has mentioned you -- thank you, for your efforts on our behalf."

"You are welcome. My cousin Redal tells me you have been most helpful with rebuilding after the invasion."

M'Ret fairly beamed at her. "You are her cousin?"

"It's... not exactly so close a relationship," Deanna confessed. "I am speaking Standard, using a vague term for a second degree separation -- I believe it means in human terms that the parents of each individual are siblings. My mother was her mother's cousin, three times removed, I believe. So there is kinship but not so close that you could call us cousins accurately, but we do consider each other family."

"Betazoids are so very different than Romulans, you know," M'Ret said warmly. "Wonderful people. I look forward to learning more about all of you, however, I am most eager to see my wife again."

"Of course. We'll take you to her quarters." Jean-Luc indicated the door with a gesture.

The officers followed M'Ret down the corridor almost in formation, and as they reached the turbolift he hesitated, half-turning to look at them with a smile. "Commander, do tell them that I've lived on Betazed for years and have no malice left to act upon? It feels as though I might be back on Romulus, being escorted in for interrogation."

"Not at all," Deanna said with her amused smile. "We are escorting you to see a woman you haven't seen in nearly a decade, and we want to be certain that she has not changed in her positive regard for you."

M'Ret threw his head back and gave the sort of joyous laugh that rose from the heart of a truly happy and amused man. "You sound like a Romulan," he said, waving his hands upward. Surprised, to the point that he reached to touch Deanna's arm. "A side effect of spending too much time on Romulus?"

"Let's say it's been an interesting mission, and discuss it later," Deanna said.

"Of course."

As they left the lift, Jean-Luc kept an eye on Deanna as she walked at his side, noting that she wasn't hesitant or appearing concerned at all. She smiled, noticing the attention, and leaned closer until their sleeves brushed together as they walked.

There wasn't time for more -- the door opened, well before M'Ret reached it, and Tyreen emerged. The two stared at each other for a brief moment and then they rushed together, both of them laughing and holding each other tightly.

deLio and Data stopped walking, as did Jean-Luc -- he felt Deanna's fingers find his, and they watched the couple go inside the suite without a backward glance.

"It appears that all will be well with them," deLio commented placidly. 

"One of those times that I am overjoyed to be wrong," Deanna said. "Thank you, deLio."

The L'norim bowed his head in her direction and turned to move purposefully down the corridor to the lift, not even glancing at Jean-Luc. Data was smiling, but when he noticed the look from Jean-Luc he returned to the usual impassivity. "I have already given the order to be under way on our previous course," he said. "Will there be anything else, Captain?"

"Not at this time. Thank you, Mr. Data."

Data nodded to him, and turned to Deanna. "I will see you at the reception tonight." He followed in the footsteps of deLio. Once the android had gone off in a lift, Jean-Luc turned to really look at Deanna. She seemed flushed.

"I don't feel too well. I'm going to our quarters," she said, letting go of his fingers. 

"Not sickbay?"

"Think about what you would feel, if you hadn't seen me in years," she said, starting to walk toward the lift now. "I'm not sure I can maintain composure -- see you later."

Jean-Luc stood stunned for a minute, and decided to wait for another few, while she made her escape. After the lift doors closed he approached himself, and took another turbolift car to the bridge. He kept having to stop his thoughts -- imagining what would fluster her so much that she had to hide was not appropriate on duty. By the time he reached the bridge they were under way again, the ship was at warp again. Data stood up as he approached his chair.

"I wonder if I could speak to you, sir," Data said.

"Of course. Mr. Carlisle, you have the bridge." Jean-Luc went to his ready room and Data followed. They settled in the less formal corner, on the couch. "I haven't had a chance to read all the reports for the time I was gone, but it appears the survey went well," he began.

"Yes, we identified two planets that appear to be suitable for colonization. It was otherwise uneventful. I wanted to ask about something -- however, I also do not want to be intrusive so I have been uncertain as to whether my inquiry would be welcome."

"A personal inquiry?" Jean-Luc asked. 

"I have seen nothing to date that leads me to believe you and the counselor have performed your duties without compromise. However, that also means that I do not have sufficient information to ascertain how your relationship with her has been progressing." Data sounded the same as in any briefing, of course. 

"You are asking how we are doing?"

Data cocked his head, frowning slightly. "I believe that is what I said."

"On a personal level? We're fine, Data. And I'm sorry we haven't had many opportunities for poker -- I'll return to the ensemble practice after tonight's concert, as well. I've missed my friends, but it was temporary, and I look forward to getting back to the usual schedule."

"I am glad to hear it is going well. I thought Deanna looked exhausted when you first came aboard, but I would assume that the stress of the mission is the reason -- I hope that she recovers quickly."

"As do I. Thank you, Mr. Data."

Data left the ready room, and Jean-Luc went to his desk. The ever-increasing list of messages beckoned. He reviewed a report while listening to invitations -- they wanted him to speak at the graduation again, but the timing was wrong. There were other invitations to speak at conferences, at events. He sighed and stopped the sixth one, and asked the computer to filter them out and play only messages from admirals. That led to Admiral Chittenden inviting him to join Starfleet Operations, which was not to his liking, and then there was a couple of messages from old friends who had recently promoted. But he wasn't in a mood to answer just then. In fact, he felt increasing tension; his head had started to ache. It was odd, and the only possible source he could imagine was Deanna.

"Computer, where is Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is in her quarters."

He tried to settle himself, took some intentionally deep breaths and groped for a few minutes of meditation without success. It only made it clearer that there was an external source for the tension. He got up and left the bridge again, did not like leaving work to be done as it would only pile up but he couldn't focus well enough that he could respond coherently.

Deanna was in the bathroom, as she wasn't in the living room or the bedroom. When he came in, he realized that she was in the bathtub and the room was warm and humid. She didn't respond to him, but moaned and moved restlessly in the water, and he realized what this was about and left the room again. 

_Jean-Luc._

He stopped fleeing, stood in the bedroom at the door, and she emerged a moment later -- he looked at the floor rather than directly at her, appealing as she was with her messy hair, flushed cheeks, flushed  _body_ \-- she had thrown on a robe but not tied it.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to bother you. I didn't realize I was projecting anything."

"It concerned me, I thought you might be in need of intervention." Bad choice of words. She chuckled at him.

"I was, but I knew you were trying to work. I'm not going to do it again -- it's stopped, finally."

"Are you actually that overwhelmed by -- " He waved a hand in the general direction of the ceiling. The diplomatic suites were actually in a different section, but she understood.

"Not usually, no. But -- they haven't seen each other in a long time. And I think they may be some of those unusual Romulans, who have a bond that's more like a Vulcan pair bond. It was -- interesting. I hope it wasn't too disruptive to you." She was deferring to his discomfort with discussing it; 'interesting' was not the word, if whatever was going on with the couple had the power to overwhelm her, an empath who'd spent the majority of her life riding around with a ship full of officers with varying sexual proclivities. 

"Not especially, as we're merely traveling at warp and I was trying in vain to work through reports and messages that would put anyone to sleep."

She was looking like she might be asleep herself, soon. He had to look away again, but it occurred to him that perhaps he was being excessively rigid about this. The guilt of not keeping his mind on his work warred with the guilt of not being able to help her. But perhaps it was simpler than he was making it out to be. He wasn't currently needed anywhere, and reports had been waiting for weeks for his attention, it wasn't as though a few more hours would make a difference. He raised his gaze to hers, instead of glancing at her as he'd done before, and found her smiling at him.

"I think that I will do the work here," he said. "There's nothing about it that's classified."

"Okay." She held herself, shrugging a little, uncertain for some reason.

He moved before he was aware of moving, and finished the short journey to put his arms around her despite the little yank of guilt in his gut -- they stood for a moment in each other's arms and it went away, then he was left with the warm, damp Betazoid who smelled of something he could not name. Not floral, not citrus, but something green and fresh. Not pine, but similar. She seemed to be leaning on him, he noticed. She wasn't typically insecure, and it was one of a few such moments that led him to wonder what he could do to help her back to the confident version of herself that he knew so well.

"Thank you," she said at last, as she pulled away. "I'll take a nap -- I think there is enough time before we have to get ready for the concert."

"I'll go out to my desk."

He checked the time, and settled in to work at reducing the long list of reports that he needed to review and file. He had to ignore the lingering smell of her bath salts on his clothes and focus with a will, and after he'd gone through a dozen reports he checked the time again -- nearly an hour had passed. They should eat dinner before going, so he set himself to replicating two meals he knew they would enjoy. She emerged wrapped up in a robe, having obviously showered and brushed out her hair. 

"Thank you," she said, as she sat across from him. She didn't pick up a utensil however, but met his eyes for a moment, her dark eyes questioning. He hesitated as well, thinking she must have something to say.

"Cygne?"

"I wonder if you ever felt guilty about going to the holodeck, or painting, or playing velocity, while the ship was under way," she said.

It hit him exactly wrong. He bit back a retort, just as he had done so often in diplomatic endeavors when something that was said irritated him. And of course, she sensed his reaction immediately so it was immaterial that he hadn't said a word. Her downcast expression tempered the brief irritation he'd felt. It had been the sort of thing she would say from time to time as his counselor. But she wasn't any longer, and it wasn't what he was needing to hear. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it that way," she said. "I just didn't want you to feel guilt for a mistake you didn't commit."

"It was more complex than that. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how to help you. But I remembered you saying that a hug would never be the wrong thing to do."

She winced, and then he regretted -- but she shook her head and picked up her fork, and started to eat. 

"I did also feel guilt about being here -- but it didn't feel right to be on the bridge ignoring you. I couldn't sit there reading a report if something was going on and you were actually in trouble."

"You reacted to something you sensed," she summarized. "I need to work harder on my own self awareness, composing myself and focusing my mind, as I didn't know you sensed that from me."

"I know you are concerned about several issues, right now. But I don't think that our performance on duty should be at the top of the list. Today I came down from the bridge because I could do so and I knew that it would not be a problem. I didn't respond to you because I was distracted and unable to focus on my duties, I did so deliberately because there was nothing critical that demanded my attention and I'm worried about your recovery from the mission, which is still ongoing, and whether this was complicating your recovery."

She ate instead of responding, and when nothing else was forthcoming, he did so as well. They often passed time together in silence, but he didn't like this -- there had not been many occasions when tension arose between them. Waiting for her to start the conversation again seemed best. But, she didn't say anything.

"Data is playing the solo tonight," he commented. He'd glanced at the program to see what pieces Malia and the others had been working on in his absence.

Deanna said nothing, as she took her empty dish to the replicator. When she went into the bedroom he followed, because he needed to change as much as she. While he took his shower she chose clothing, and when he emerged she was sitting at the mirror doing makeup. While he put on a clean uniform she said nothing -- the silence was wearing on him, the departure from the easy back-and-forth they often engaged in, his inability to fix it, made him anxious. 

He sat on the end of the bed and watched her brushing her hair, taming it into a sort of braid that wove her hair tightly against the back of her head then tucking the remainder up and pinning it in a neat, formal style. She put on some glittering hoop earrings, then dark lipstick that matched the burgundy of the dress she'd chosen. When she stood up and turned to him he came to his feet and met her in the center of the room, matching her tentative smile with one of his own.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just working through. It isn't you."

He huffed, some of the tension dissipating. "I'm not accustomed to seeing you unable to articulate your feelings." Or to having her unresponsive to emotional or verbal feedback from him, which was frankly more disturbing to him. 

"It was overwhelming," she said, leaving him to wonder and then realize what she meant as she continued. "I don't often experience something that derails me so thoroughly that I can't maintain composure. I'm still feeling somewhat disconnected from myself, I suppose, as if my entire nervous system is still -- tingling. When you held me earlier it felt better but -- "

Jean-Luc wrapped his arms around her, and after a few seconds she relaxed against him, leaning her head on his shoulder and melting into him in that way she had when she was cold. Whispers of the bond tickled his spine and started to tingle in his ears. "Cygne."

"Can I stay here in your arms for the evening?" she murmured in his ear after a few minutes.

"That would make going to the concert difficult."

She wriggled slightly, burrowing, some of the wispy curls she'd left dangling catching on one of his pips and tugging a little. "It would. But -- "

"You can sit next to me," he said, with a grin. 

"I'm curious though, how the others will react to M'Ret. He's been on Betazed and he's obviously in a different state of mind than any Romulan we've ever met."

"Shall we go see?"

She stood back from him, leaving her hands on his chest, looking up at his face. The distance she'd had in her eyes was gone. "I'm feeling much better, thank you. I'm not sure what's going on with me but it seems to be fading."

As they left their quarters, she let go of his arm, walked with him -- the skirt she wore was full, ankle-length, and as she went along it swirled around her dramatically. He wondered if it was designed to do just that. "The ensemble will be practicing on a different night," he said, turning to innocuous topics as they were in public. "Thursday."

"I'll see if I can alter my schedule. I'm sure my group won't mind moving to a different evening."

"If you keep coming to practice, I should start attending yours," he commented as they moved into the lift. As sometimes happened, someone was already in it -- Narviat and Tarel smiled at them, and Tarel had light in her eyes and a flower pinned to the lapel of the brilliantly brocaded green tunic she wore. "Perhaps I'm underdressed," he commented, noting Narviat had found a black suit, Terran style, in the replicator.

"It's a chronic problem," Deanna commented with her usual quiet amusement and fond smile. "You Starfleet types."

"Mmmm hmmm," he replied with a mock frown. 

"Darani said that M'Ret arrived -- that Tyreen is happier than ever," Tarel exclaimed. "Such a relief that it went so well."

"Were you expecting otherwise?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Long separation is difficult for a relationship," Narviat said. "There were tours of duty that lasted months -- some homecomings were a little strained, for us, but happily Tarel is a patient person."

 The lift halted, the door opened, and they joined the flow of people into Ten Forward. To Jean-Luc's dismay, Kenny Ching raced across the room, zigzagging between people, to leap up and land directly in front of them, grinning up at them happily. "HI!"

"Kenneth," Jean-Luc said sternly, giving him a look.

Kenny dissolved into giggles, writhed around and loped off again. His mother's voice rose above the general noise of conversation in the room as she called his name.

"You have children aboard?" Tarel exclaimed, shocked.

"Fewer than before the war, but yes," Deanna said. "Would you like something to drink?"

She became the hostess again, and Jean-Luc watched her see to their guests as she had at countless diplomatic soirees and receptions with admirals, envoys and mediations over the years. He stood with Narviat watching Tarel go with her to the bar, and the man turned to him with a smile.

"I have been speaking to some of your crew, as you recommended. I am starting to think that what you suggested to Toreth might be possible for me, with a little work."

"I -- "

But the door opened behind them, and a laugh brought both their heads around to look -- M'Ret had arrived with Tyreen, and Toreth was with them. The former proconsul was if anything happier than he'd been when he had come aboard. "Captain," he called out. 

Deanna returned to hand a glass to Jean-Luc, keeping the other drink she brought. "Oh, dear," she said quietly.

M'Ret reached them and gave Deanna and Tarel a very obvious look up and down. "Commander," he said. "I believe I have met you before -- Subcommander?" He eyed Narviat.

"Yes, years ago, I received a commendation -- I was a subcommander. Narviat t'Aimne, and this is my wife Tarel." He took the drink Tarel had brought him. 

"So you've decided to defect -- one of the smartest things I've done, and Tyreen tells me we are all headed for Betazed, which would be the other smart thing -- you would not believe it, how very opposite of Romulus it is! More than a year I spent being wary and thinking I couldn't allow myself to relax and stop assuming someone would slip poison in my drink or step out of the shadows. You'll  _love_ it," M'Ret announced.

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna -- she was watching the man with the blend of careful happiness and anticipation that she usually reserved for her mother, as if this scene might be the first step down the short road to shenanigans. Narviat and Tarel had the same look about them, as M'Ret extolled the wonders of Betazed, describing the scenery and the general welcoming atmosphere of the place. 

Tyreen was smiling and watching her husband with incredulity, but seemed less wary than the others. When M'Ret paused to turn to her, she said, "I wonder if they have any Romulan beverages?"

"The captain is a wine maker," Narviat put in, holding up the glass. "He brought out some of his wine for the occasion. It's very different, not unlike one of the stronger Romulan beverages. I think you will enjoy it."

"I'll get us some," M'Ret said, heading for the bar. 

"He's changed," Tarel said quietly, looking at Tyreen. "Very much."

"He is happier than I have ever seen him," Tyreen said. "I had difficulty understanding his assertion that Betazed was so different, but seeing him now, being with him -- I almost did not believe it was him. Over subspace I wondered if this was a deception and I would find a surgically-altered stranger. But it is him, as different as he is."

Jean-Luc shot a look at Deanna. She nodded -- it accounted for the odd emotions she had sensed from Tyreen. M'Ret returned then, holding out a wine glass to his wife and beaming at her. "It is  _very_ good."

"I'm glad you like it," Jean-Luc said, sipping his -- the Cabernet was not the best he'd ever had of the Picard wines, but it was fair. He glanced over at the ensemble -- Data was tuning his violin, and the others were preparing, putting together instruments and setting up sheet music. "It appears that life on Betazed agrees with you."

Unfortunately, that focused M'Ret on him entirely, smiling cannily and gesturing at Deanna. "Absolutely. You've been there?"

"Of course," Jean-Luc said, leaving out that it had been brief and infrequent visits, with no leave. 

"And of course -- Troi, that means you are part of the Fifth House," M'Ret exclaimed. "Redal and Diwa have mentioned you -- and your mother. Magnificent woman."

"You know Deanna's mother?" Tarel asked, enjoying this immensely. She and Toreth exchanged a glance. Deanna had spent time with the two over the last days of travel, and Jean-Luc wondered how much Deanna had told them.

"I suspect there are not many people left in the Federation who have not met my Mother," Deanna said with the tolerant smile of the longsuffering child of Lwaxana Troi. 

M'Ret laughed at that. "There are certainly not many on Betazed who have not. She told me about your career in Starfleet. Tyreen gives me an idea that your mother's praises were not simply the bragging of the proud parent."

The sound of a violin playing an arpeggio forestalled further conversation -- Jean-Luc turned, gesturing for their guests to find seats in the half-moon of chairs, six rows deep. Malia stepped up to introduce the ensemble and talk a little about the works they would be playing. As the six musicians began to play, Deanna's hand found its way to his where his hands lay in his lap; he moved it a few inches closer to lay on his thigh, gripping her fingers to reassure. A glance some time later told him she was sitting with head bowed, to all appearances listening raptly, but he could see from her expression that she was tired. 

Since he knew she wouldn't budge he didn't suggest that she go -- he was tied to the event as the host, and couldn't go with her. So he sat with her and clapped politely between pieces. She applauded as well, but after the next song started her hand found his. He started to wonder if she might be suffering more than exhaustion, it was uncharacteristic of her to do this.

At the intermission he turned to look at Dr. Mengis, who was seated at the far end of the front row. When Mengis turned and found him gazing at him, he rose and made his way over. "Good evening," he said, as Jean-Luc rose to his feet. 

"She's not feeling well," he murmured. 

"I'm fine," Deanna protested, rising and putting a good face on. 

"Go with him," he said quietly.

She heard the order in it, and tilted her head toward the door, then followed Dr. Mengis from the room. 

"She'll be fine," Jean-Luc said to the row of people now looking up at him. He sat down and turned to Toreth, who'd been sitting next to Deanna. Toreth was watching him; he smiled, and turned back to watch the ensemble. But they were all watching him. Data stepped around his music stand and crossed the room.

"Is Commander Troi all right?" he asked.

"I'm sure she will be. Thank you, Data."

Data looked up at the rest of the audience, gave a smile and a nod, and returned to his fellow musicians. He said something to them, raised his bow, and started to play.

Deanna returned two songs later, quietly, and sat next to him, this time with her head up and watching the ensemble with a composed and relaxed expression. The remainder of the concert passed uneventfully. As usual, the musicians took their bows at the end, then mingled with the crowd, as drinks were acquired and the socializing resumed. It was the point where Jean-Luc usually escaped, but they had guests. So once more, he found himself with wine glass in hand, standing with Narviat, Toreth and Tarel. M'Ret had gone to speak to Data, and was now avidly discussing how an android could be a musician. Tyreen had followed her husband and was talking with less animation with Malia. 

"Do you often have events like this aboard your vessel?" Toreth asked.

"Every other month, or whenever the ensemble feels prepared for a performance," Jean-Luc said. "Had I been aboard for the past weeks I might have performed tonight."

"What instrument do you play?" Tarel asked.

"A flute," Deanna said. "It's really a shame that he couldn't play with the ensemble. He plays beautifully."

"Then we should take our wine off to hear him play," Narviat put forth, with more enthusiasm than they'd yet heard from him. "Unless you are still feeling poorly,  _tetya_."

"The doctor said it was only a stress headache," she said, turning to Jean-Luc. "What do you think? Can you overcome your perfectionist tendencies and play for me?"

Rolling his eyes, he waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. "Come on, then. Bring a bottle of the wine." Deanna smiled at him so happily that it almost made up for Narviat's chuckling and Tarel's silly grin. By the end of the mustering of the troops, Data had joined them, and Tyreen and M'Ret, and he found that playing for friends in his quarters wasn't so terrible as all that, even if in his lack of practice he occasionally fumbled the fingerings. 

It was very late when they all shuffled off to their own quarters. Deanna was in bed before he was, and curled up with her eyes closed, so he got in quietly and rolled on his side. After a bit, he realized her breathing didn't sound the same; she usually breathed audibly, not quite a snore but not quiet. 

"What did the doctor say?"

A pause. "He thinks I should come back in the morning for a full physical. He acknowledges that it may be simply post-mission exhaustion, and that it may be a stress headache, but he wants to be sure. The brief physical when we came aboard the  _Potemkin_ did not tell him anything that suggested that I would still be this tired now. I told him about what happened earlier, and that I thought it might have something to do with it. I'm sure there's nothing serious going on."

"I'll be glad to hear it after the physical verifies there is not." He moved closer, reaching for her, and at his touch she moved in against him as if she'd merely waited for the invitation. She fell asleep, and he listened to her breathing, his arm around her waist, feeling the slight movement of her ribs, until he fell asleep himself.


	16. Chapter 16

"It's not just exhaustion," Mengis said. He tapped on the console in front of him, and she knew he was scrolling through information and bringing up more, even as he spoke. "It's an allergic reaction."

"What?" The last thing she'd expected. Deanna sat up, forgetting that it would result in inaccurate sensor readings.

Mengis smiled, taking a step back to give her space to swing her legs off the biobed. "The dye used to make your blood appear green. It's generally not an allergen, but I doubt it was ever tried with a Betazoid, as that appears to be the problem -- it's caused inflammation and would have shut down your kidneys had you not come in. You'll be in sickbay most of the day today, while we put you on a bypass to remove it from your blood. Normally the body will gradually remove the dye on its own; the captain likely has more red than green at the moment. Your biology is merely different, in subtle ways, that make some chemicals more toxic to you."

"I see. Can I at least go take care of a couple of things before we start?"

"You may, of course. But the sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish." He took another step away, as she dropped to the floor. "Your guests appear to be adjusting. Toreth has been in to get sedatives each night, you may want to talk to her about getting some help for her post traumatic stress. Narviat came in for a check and is doing very well, I suggested exercise. And the captain is fit, not at all worse for wear, and worried about you, primarily."

It was an odd little summary that made her wonder why he thought she needed it. "I'll be back in less than an hour. Thank you, Greg."

"You're welcome," he said, surprised. She'd never called him by name before. She wasn't sure why she had, other than she occasionally called all the senior officers by name, in casual conversation at times. She glanced at him and wondered again about the blankness she sensed -- it was similar to Tom Glendenning's blank spot, the strangeness in what she sensed from him that changed the general emotional turmoil of a human, and now she thought that perhaps it had something to do with Section 31.

But unlike Tom, the doctor had never lied or done anything suspect. Never felt at all to her as though he was present aboard the ship in any capacity other than as ship's doctor, and never approached any mission with any emotion that led her to think he was up to something. Given the examples of how she made mistakes when she acted on hunches based in what she sensed, she opted once more to default to saying nothing whatsoever about it and go on with life.

She left sickbay and headed for the bridge. Then said while riding in the lift, "Computer, where is the captain?"

"Captain Picard is in Ten Forward."

"Change destination to Ten Forward."

She arrived to find he'd sat down to tea with Narviat and M'Ret -- as she came in, his head swung round and their eyes met, and he seemed to know already that something was up. He watched expectantly as she approached and so did the other two.

"As it turned out, I'm allergic to the dye they used to turn me into a Romulan," she said as she stood at his side. "My body isn't able to filter it from my blood either. So I'm being sentenced to a day in sickbay to remove the chemical."

"Oh," he said, frowning. "Then I'm glad I was being a curmudgeon about ordering you to sickbay."

"Yes. So I'll have to play chess with Data in sickbay."

"You will be all right,  _tetya_?" Narviat said, gazing up at her with great concern. M'Ret blinked at the term of endearment.

"Absolutely. I know we were planning to contact Redal by subspace and discuss arrangements but we can postpone that until tomorrow. I was also going to check on Arja and Tet -- have you spoken to them lately?"

"Tarel made a point of having them come in for breakfast. They have been nervous about joining us for all that you've invited us to, but we tried to explain that no one in the Federation will look at them with suspicion," Narviat said. "I had hoped they would come to participate in our subspace call."

"I'll speak to them," Jean-Luc said. "Go do the procedure. I'll check on you later."

Deanna smiled at M'Ret. "Are you enjoying your second visit to the  _Enterprise_?"

"Of course. I am awake this time." M'Ret's easy grin and relaxed posture were a contrast to Narviat's even though the latter had settled in quickly to being on the ship. "You play chess? Which kind?"

"The three dimensional version of Terran chess. She's quite good, Data has been trying to beat her for years," Jean-Luc said with no small amount of pride. 

"The android?" Narviat leaned back to study her anew. 

"There is an element of the game he lacks. Some strategy is based in intuition. He can be surprised by a less linear strategy," she said. "Perhaps he can teach you the game and we can play tomorrow."

"I've played it," M'Ret said. "There are those on Betazed who do -- I learned with a computer but occasionally play with an associate over a glass of wine. I enjoy a challenge -- perhaps we can have a small tournament."

"We'll see. I'll see you all later." Deanna headed for the door, noting with satisfaction that the three men seemed to be at ease with each other.

She contacted the salon to reschedule her appointment with them on the way back to sickbay, and then Data to let him know about the change in plans. When she arrived Mengis showed her to one of the wards in the back, where the procedure would be run. Instead of a biobed they placed her in one of the lounge chairs, and they spent a little time finding a comfortable posture for her before beginning.

"We will break at three hour intervals to give you restroom and snack opportunities. You can sit and listen to books or music, of course," Mengis said as the nurse rearranged the items on the right arm of the chair and put a cuff around Deanna's upper arm. "Visitors can come if you wish to have someone to talk to."

"Thank you."

Mengis issued instructions to the nurse, the process was started, and they left the room after assuring her they would be notified by the computer if anything was amiss. Deanna sighed, and decided that her own backlog of messages could be dealt with while she was there tolerating the pressure on her right arm for hours on end.

"Computer, play back messages for me, starting with the oldest one."

She worked through message after message for two hours, and eventually hit one that as the computer gave her the identity of the sender made her freeze up inside. The console at her right beeped; she took a deep breath and it stopped, as the muscles in her arm relaxed, but it distracted her enough that she didn't tell the computer to skip the message.

"Deanna," Will's voice said into the room. "Please contact me when you can. Data said you're in the middle of a mission, estimated you would return in three weeks. I hope all is well."

It left her to wonder what it was about. Tone of voice gave away nothing -- he spoke calmly, and sounded like nothing had ever happened between them.

Closing her eyes, Deanna wanted to cry, but instead refocused her thoughts on other things. The supposition that Section 31 was somehow seeing herself and Jean-Luc as a risk was a knotty problem, and easy to refocus on it. They had supposed the issue was the change in their relationship, due to timing. But as she thought more about the general level of fear in the Federation, the commentary of officers around her describing the reactions of their home worlds, their families who were not in Starfleet, and the things admirals had said -- or not said, which often increased anxiety more than what was said -- she wondered if there were not more to it than that. If, now that the Federation member worlds were reeling from the invasions and deaths of millions, the priorities might be shifting and captains who clung to the old values of exploration and peacemaking were less valuable to the survival of the Federation, in the eyes of some. After all, one of the first things that Felton had done was to encourage Jean-Luc to accept a promotion. Moving him to Earth, out of the field, would make it easy to give the flagship to someone who would conform to less altruistic, more wary and defensive expectations.

She opened her eyes at the sound of a boot on the floor, and saw that Jean-Luc was approaching the chair with a serious expression. "The doctor said you could have visitors."

"I'm sorry," she said, realizing that she must have been broadcasting her distress. "I was clearing my long backlog of messages. Will finally made contact. I was upset for a moment."

"You finally heard from him? I hope he has a better attitude," Jean-Luc said. He put a hand on her left arm, eyed the cuff around her right arm, and glanced at the console beyond. "Mengis said that this will leave you even more exhausted than you have been, but a good night's sleep should set you to rights. I hope it works just that way."

"You have your flute," she said, noticing that he held it in his left hand.

"I do indeed. Would you like me to play for you?"

"The only thing that would please me more would be eating chocolate ice cream while you play it for me."

Fifteen minutes later, she tried to eat ice cream with her left hand, while he sat on a chair he'd brought in and played along with the computer. It helped -- after the ice cream, she closed her eyes and actually fell asleep, realizing it only when Dr. Mengis came in and informed Jean-Luc that it was time for her to take a break from the treatment. She opted to take a walk after a bathroom break, and Jean-Luc went with her for a turn around deck ten. 

"You don't have to take so much time away with me," Deanna said, as they approached sickbay again.

"Don't have to, no. Nor do I have to be on the bridge at the moment. Data will be along shortly, and then I'll go."

"How are things going with M'Ret and Narviat?"

He snorted in amusement. "M'Ret is making your mother seem calm. The least typical Romulan I have ever met. He and Tyreen are on a holodeck with the others, at the moment, and he's taking them on a personal tour of his favorite places on Betazed."

"Have you heard from Tom?"

They slowed at the door to sickbay, just outside the range of the motion sensor. "No. Should I?"

"No, I was simply wondering if he might follow up with one of us after Felton went her way."

Data was standing in main sickbay with a chess board and a box of pieces. Jean-Luc left, and for another two hours, she played chess with Data, chatting about life on the  _Enterprise_ and thankful he wasn't trying to discuss anything serious. He took in more than people realized and knew a shocking amount of details of people's lives, and his summaries of what was transpiring in the various departments let her know that some of her work had paid off. Geordi had engineering running smoothly, but Ward Carlisle had been encountering some drama in operations, and sometimes had difficulty managing the scheduling. Astrometrics had seen a few personnel changes and the lieutenant at the top of that sub-hierarchy was ruffling feathers. The teacher running their small school had a couple of problem children who had missed counseling appointments due to her absence, and Kenny had been throwing fits daily. And of course Data had to talk about his new dog -- the Scottish terrier was the terror of deck eight, dashing out the door when Data came and went, and while he was more responsive to training than Spot had been, Toto was young and headstrong, wanting to run through corridors barking at people.

He departed with the chess game and she spent a few moments laying back with closed eyes. It was obvious, now that there was nothing to distract her from it, that she was feeling tired again. 

"May I come in?"

She turned her head -- Geordi stood in the door uncertainly. "Hello, yes, come in."

"The doc said you were accepting visitors." Geordi came to stand on her left, glancing at the cuff and away again, uncomfortable about intruding. "I haven't really talked to you since you got back, you've been busy with our guests. You're gonna be all right, after this, right?"

"Apparently I should never have my blood turned green again, so my days of intelligence work are over," she said lightly.

He sighed, and his rueful smile reminded her that he too had been scarred by the Romulans. He blinked, and the irises of his artificial eyes shuttered closed and opened in response. "That would be fine with me. I was kinda worried, that you might not come back this time."

"There were a few moments I thought you might be right. But we made it -- we had some help. How have you been?"

Geordi bowed his head briefly. "I'm okay. Still wishing Rachel hadn't broken up with me. But it's getting easier." It had been a few months, in fact, since his girlfriend had transferred away to another assignment. The heartbreak wasn't as fresh, but she could sense the ache.

"Did you think about going with her?" She hadn't asked, because he hadn't sought out counseling. But the breakup had obviously had a long-lasting effect.

"I did, but... you don't find assignments like the  _Enterprise_ , any more," he said sadly.

"What do you mean?" She knew, but she wanted more information. 

"Well... Starfleet isn't the same anymore. I know we keep saying that but I've talked to captains, who asked for me. I've talked to the shipyards, and this admiral who tried to promote me. Something's missing, there's just no -- spark. To any of them."

"Spark?"

"You know. Why do you stick around? Why are you here?" Deanna gave him a look of bemusement. Geordi chuckled. "Okay, aside from having a close, personal relationship with someone aboard, why are you still here, after you had all those great offers?"

"The offers aren't all so great, I suppose. We're family here, and I really don't want to leave -- not for just anyone. It's not as though I need to earn anything, or crave noteriety."

"Just a job. I don't need just a job. And, this is the flagship, and the transwarp project is getting closer to success than it ever has. We have a good chance of revolutionizing space travel -- just think, instead of days, we could be at Betazed in an hour or less. I'd think they'd upgrade the  _Enterprise_ pretty early in the program. The kind of innovation we haven't had in years." Geordi was starting to be excited. 

"I hope you're right," she replied. She had a thought -- it resonated with her strongly, and she had a sudden, strong hunch that started to excite her in a way she hadn't felt in a while. "So I'm curious -- was there any specific person, any particular commanding officer for example, who really inspired you? What was it about that person that captivated you?"

Geordi did a double-take, but he answered. "Other than Captain Picard? That would have to be Professer Pelton. She was really good at infusing cadets with enthusiasm for the work. Which was a good thing, a lot of warp physics is pretty dull reading. Also Captain Zimbata really made a huge impression. She was a lot like Captain Picard in a way, expected professionalism and had high standards."

"That would be your first starship assignment?"

"I'm a little confused why you're asking about things you know about me," he said at last. 

Deanna let her head fall back against the head rest. The cuff was hurting her arm, but she endured. "Because I wanted to know how you felt about them, even today, after all these years. Because I wanted to know you haven't lost your spark. Because I think I know how to rescue Starfleet."

"Rescue... um. You lost me, Deanna."

"Think about what you were just telling me, that you want to stay here, that no one else has any spark left to them. That Starfleet isn't so much a family any more and everything is different. We aren't the only ones observing that Starfleet is losing its way. But think about how we got here, on the  _Enterprise_ \-- what inspired you to stay and improve yourself as an officer. That's what cadets need now, inspiration. We need to push more cadets through our program on the  _Enterprise_. We need to inspire them to go out into the fleet and make more sparks."

Geordi laughed, this time with joy. "Y'know, that might just work. But you'll have to get the captain to up his game. You know how much he 'enjoys' being the center of attention."

"Don't underestimate his desire to see the Federation heal and being to thrive again."

"While I'm at it, I won't underestimate you either," he said. "Data said you've been showing up in classes with the cadets here and there. You're up to something."

The pieces of a big, complex puzzle floated through her thoughts, and she started to really see how it all might fit together, leading to a grin. "Or I'm just tired of waiting for things to happen the slow way. Are you up for helping us?"

"Absolutely." Geordi held out a hand, and she shook it with her left -- gingerly, so as not to dislodge the cuff on her right bicep. 


	17. Chapter 17

Jean-Luc sat up out of bed at the alarm, asked the computer to stop, and watched Deanna bounce up from the bed and head for the bathroom as if she'd never had a problem. Which was not like her -- under the best circumstances, she tended to be slow to wake, and grumpy if pushed to hurry. She'd been recuperating, and now she had energy?

When they were dressed and sitting down to breakfast, he noticed she was getting raktajino. "Not your usual."

"Don't worry, I'm not somehow taken over by the spirit of Kahless," she joked, sipping. "I just wanted something different."

He picked up a croissant and reached for the jam. "Today, I am caught up on report reviews, my messages are cleared out, and we are still toiling along at warp five. Therefore I have acquiesced to M'Ret's desire to introduce his wife and his new friends, including us, to a Betazoid festival."

Deanna almost dropped her mug. "Oh."

He noted her dismay with a bit of his own. "Cygne?"

"Did he happen to specify whether this would be the kind of festival that tourists attend, or the authentic Betazoid festivals held at the Houses?"

"I do not believe he specified, no. Does it make a difference?"

She put down the raktajino and covered her mouth and cheeks with both hands, staring at him, wide-eyed.

"So, naked people?"

"Oh -- naked, yes, but that's only part. I'm not sure this will go well. Even the tourist events are... hm. Maybe letting you experience it would be best. Not that the holodeck will be exactly the same -- let's just say that the currents of emotions at a real Betazoid festival are simultaneously overwhelming and freeing. The holodeck won't be able to replicate that."

"Is it like the bond?" He started to tense, at the thought of being  _that way_ with strange Betazoids.

"No -- it's similar, but not sexual." She shrugged and started to peel a piece of fruit. "The Festival of the Moon is about to start, in the Fourth Province. He may want to attend, so it isn't surprising that he wants to give them a trial run."

He wondered if there would be a crisis, that might divert the ship within an hour of dropping off the Romulans on Betazed. He ate quietly and thought about strange diplomatic endeavors throughout his career that led to situations like this.

"I'm adding some appointments to your schedule, after we leave Betazed," she said, derailing his trip down memory lane.

"Oh?"

"I think you should start meeting with the cadets one on one." 

She was eating sections of the fruit she'd peeled, looking at the plate of scones and croissants, and had tossed the comment out as if suggesting the most innocuous change. He contemplated what might have led her to suggest this so randomly, while talking about Betazed.

"It would be good for them," she went on, as if he'd asked why. "Give them a chance to ask questions."

He picked up his coffee. "I see."

"I think we need to help Starfleet recover."

That brought his eyes up to meet hers. She sat with her hands in her lap, watching him. "And talking to a few cadets will do this," he said tentatively. 

"No. Talking to many cadets, training them, orienting them to finding their passion and pursuing it in addition to the battle drills and the stint in engineering, will do this. Planting the same excitement that kept you in Starfleet for so long, in twenty-year-olds who need encouragement in dreaming about the future will do this. You should speak at the Academy graduation and tell stories about first contacts that changed the Federation for the better, talk about treaties that changed the course of history."

He wasn't sure what to make of it. She was serious. He almost went on without comment, but something held him captive to the thought. Perhaps her eyes, intense and almost pleading with him. 

"You are the most experienced, most decorated starship captain left in the fleet," she said after long silence. "Felton pushed you to step down -- it was the first thing she said to you. Determining whether you were amenable to stepping down, and then determining how much you rely on what I sense, were her real focus. What if it isn't our relationship that is considered the risk? What if it's your influence, your seniority, that they consider a threat to their agenda? What if they were able to install less ethical, more fearful men and women on the bridges of starships? What if nearly losing the Dominion War led the Section to think that the answer to keeping the Federation safe -- their own sole focus -- lies in building up a different Starfleet, one more likely to rush to battle and defend, than forge friendships and treaties? What if the way to fight back against the slow erosion of Starfleet is to build it, with new officers who are able to stand up for principles instead of caving in to being strong-armed by Section 31 agents wearing admiral's bars? What if Tom Glendenning was telling me their real agenda is to create a new kind of Starfleet, rather than returning to what we had before?"

He sat with it while she returned to her breakfast. He watched her eat a croissant, with butter and strawberry jam, and finish her raktajino. "I'll think about it."

Deanna smiled affectionately. "I hope you do. What time are they going to the holodeck?"

He asked the computer for the time. "Fifteen minutes. He suggested wearing something comfortable."

"If we're going to the Moon Festival I'll go in traditional costume. Computer, give me a Betazoid formal dancer's costume for the Fourth Province Moon Festival." She took her plate and mug to the replicator and swapped them for the packet that materialized. "I'll be back shortly. I assume you won't want to go in costume? The uniform will be fine."

"I'll finish cleaning up."

When she emerged, he looked up from a padd and almost dropped it. She walked with pronounced swings of her hips, ringing the bundles of bells perched on each one. "All the martial arts practice will help," she said, turning about to show off every inch of bare skin.

"You're going to walk through the ship wearing nothing but bells?!"

"I'll put on the robe." She shook out the long swath of muslin in her left hand, flinging it up and wrapping herself in it. There were tiny bells stuck to her nipples, dangling from her ear lobes, woven into her hair which she'd pinned up high on the crown of her head. She had bracelets of tiny metal rings, that chimed a different chord than the bells on her hips, or the ones tied around her knees. A ring on each big toe featured two more tinkling bells. The muslin was nearly see-through. It reminded him of the dress from that fateful night in Ten Forward, when he had finally mustered the courage to talk to her. 

She pranced a few more steps forward, jingling merrily, to lean in and kiss him lightly. "Do you want me to change?"

He almost said yes. But, this was something new about her culture, which he now realized he had never really investigated, and the shame of having lived and worked so closely with her for years and never really understanding more than a smattering of abstract facts about Betazoids mostly due to her mother's antics led him to shake his head and give in to curiosity. What would she do with all those bells? He found himself really wanting to know. And the light in her eyes that was starting to pull him in, the bond starting to tingle at the edges of his senses, the excitement she was generating, drew him out the door with her. 

They encountered no one between their quarters and the corridor outside holodeck two. She preceded him as the door sighed open, jangling as she walked, and an exclamation of surprise greeted them. All their Romulan guests were standing inside on a street in the dark, a single street lamp overhead illuminating the group, watching her enter. Jean-Luc noted M'Ret's appreciative stare. The former proconsul gestured at her as he turned to the others. "This is a traditional costume for the festival."

"I expected to find you all dancing," Deanna said, tossing the 'robe' to the ground. 

"We were waiting for you. Perhaps you should talk about the festival and what it means to you," M'Ret said. "Lead us in the dancing afterward."

"What it means to me? I went with my mother every three years, as a child. Children dance for the rising of the moons, to welcome them. The evening meal is taken, and then the children go to bed, and the adults dance for the remainder of the ceremony. I joined the adult dance at sixteen, after the development of my empathic abilities."

"I met your mother at the Festival of Flowers," M'Ret said. "She warned me about the Moon Festival. The program is what she called the tourist version."

"Which is all that a holodeck program could be, given there is no telepathic ability in holograms. I recommend watching for a while. If you want to try to dance later I can teach you some of the steps. Computer -- run program." Deanna started to run even as the holograms came into being around them. Two hundred naked Betazoids, male and female, running down the street was an overwhelming sight, and the noise was deafening -- thousands of little bells, and most of them were shouting and singing and laughing.

"Are we supposed to follow?" Tarel asked as the herd drew away from them, the noise decreasing somewhat.

"I don't think so. They're turning around." Jean-Luc moved to one side out of the middle of the street. The moonlight was bright enough that they could see but not distinctly. The runners were picking up lights of some kind, and running back toward them holding light in each hand.

"How many of these festivals have you been to?" Narviat asked as they rearranged themselves around the light post. 

"None -- the flagship has been called to duty much too often to allow for such indulgences," he said, watching the oncoming wave of runners, looking for Deanna. She was in front, head up and running hard, her arms and legs pumping, and then she faded into the crowd -- the front runners stopped and gathered, and then people were being thrown high in the air, flipping head over heels, doing midair cartwheels, rising above the crowd with arms stretched out in a deep backbend before pitching their feet over their heads and doing a backflip before descending to be caught by those waiting below. Deanna was the sixth to be tossed; she spun on the ascent like a top and let herself drop back into the arms of the holographic dancers. Then two or three were tossed at a time, at the apex of the leap holding out their hands and touching hands, facing each other as they turned about and falling down again.

Then the crowd thinned as everyone formed long lines, dancing together in an energetic clamor of bells. They were playing a song, by swinging hips and tossing feet, shaking arms, and it lasted for five minutes or so. Then they paired off, and the dancers were performing in synchrony as pairs -- except Deanna, spinning and posing alone among them while the others performed lifts and vaults and catches in a manner reminiscent of ballet. After a few minutes she spun off to watch the dancers from the other side of the street. 

The entire time they watched the dancing, Jean-Luc felt less and less himself, and more caught up -- since of course it could only be Deanna projecting any emotion, he realized that he felt drawn in by her, and it built up as she danced to the point that he found himself moving several steps into the street. When she stopped dancing, it felt like loss -- he stared at her, until she returned his gaze. For a long moment he felt more than he thought; she said nothing telepathically that he could detect, but there was a familiar pressure that he suspected was emotional feedback passing back and forth between them, and before he knew it his feet were moving again. The holographic dancers dodged around him, still whirling and filling the air with the sound of bells. 

He was half across the street when she ran at him, and his hands went up to catch her -- she flew up, laughing, and somehow he was holding her high overhead, spinning in place. He let himself move with her for a while without thinking, simply let his body flow as the impulse came to him and it eased the pressure until the emotions were flowing freely. It was the bond, but it wasn't; this was new, and joyful, not sexual. Two bodies moving through space together with the constant ringing and jangling bells as accompaniment. Thoughts of feeling this free flashed through his mind as he let himself move with her through the emotions -- memories of running in track tournaments, the blood singing in his veins and the feeling of being fleet and young and triumphant, ran through his mind while his body responded to hers -- and then it came to a halt as her feet hit the pavement in front of hers, his eyes landing on hers, and they were once more embodied, panting together. He noticed sheen of sweat on her face, and he was aware then of a few sore muscles, and the complete absence of the crowd. Someone had canceled the rest of the dancers.

"You always said you couldn't dance," she whispered.

"That wasn't dancing. I don't know what it was. The bond."

Her gaze shifted to something behind him, and then he remembered their audience. He turned his head to see the others standing together as they had been, staring at them. Then M'Ret broke ranks and approached; as if it gave the others permission to move, they followed him.

"You said you'd never been to the festivals," M'Ret said, accusing.

"He hasn't. We work together well," Deanna said.

"These dance steps you mentioned, I hope they were not that," Tarel said. "There is no way I could do that."

Deanna laughed lightly at her friend's dismay. "No. Computer, lights up half. I'll show you the other dance."

Jean-Luc stood aside, leaning against one of the light poles, watching her teach a very sedate series of steps to them that didn't involve being tossed in the air, and felt a bit clammy in his uniform, which had somehow not been confining while dancing but now felt restrictive. He couldn't remember everything he'd done, but he could tell that it had been something very physically taxing, from the various aches in his arms and legs. None were so painful that he felt he needed intervention yet. In addition to the minor aching he felt mentally depleted -- exhausted, in fact, now that he wasn't in motion. 

"You appear stunned."

He raised his head to look at Narviat regarding him with what he could only consider a friendly smile. 

"Tired," he replied. "Not my usual level of activity."

"You were both surprised, and so I can only assume that this bond you have is strong. As if this were not already obvious." Narviat crossed his arms and watched Deanna showing the women a kickstep, turn, hop sequence. She showed no self consciousness about being nearly naked, and none of them seemed to care.

"Obvious?" Perhaps if he weren't so numb-headed he might not have fallen into asking.

"You often communicate with each other with a look, and at times when you are moving together or around each other there is a synchronicity." Narviat sighed heavily. "Now Tarel will want me to dance with her."

Jean-Luc chuckled at his woe. "I don't care for it either."

"You made a good show of it, for someone who does not enjoy it. You should ask the computer to play it back for you if you doubt. M'Ret asked it to record your performance."

The impulse to bite back an outburst again served him well. "Perhaps I will," he said evenly, instead. He watched the others practice for a moment longer, then excused himself from the holodeck, and left them to explore the Moon Festival without him. In his quarters he sat down in the easy chair, huffing wearily, considering a shower and change of clothes but ultimately not caring. The chirp of the comm system shook him awake.

"Bridge to Picard."

"Picard here," he blurted automatically, feeling disoriented. As Data continued he took a deep breath and tried to clear the fogginess.

"We have an incoming transmission from Admiral Tessora."

"Put it through to my quarters, thank you." He went to his desk in the corner and as he sat down the monitor flickered to life. The image of Admiral Tessora appeared. She smiled at him. 

"Captain, I wanted to let you know that I will be catching up to you while you are still en route to Betazed -- I have been assigned to manage a situation on Deep Space Eight," she said. "The  _Ticonderoga_ will rendezvous with the  _Enterprise_ later today. I need to obtain the isolinear module that you and Commander Troi brought back from Romulus."

"Yes, of course."

"So we will debrief at sixteen hundred hours," Tessora went on. His face must have gave something away, as she paused and leaned a little closer. "Jean-Luc. Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral. I'm actually quite fatigued at the moment. We'll be ready to meet with you when you arrive."

"Good. I'll see you then. Tessora out."

This time, he did go to take a shower. While standing in the sonics, he felt lightheaded, and reeled unsteadily walking into the bedroom for clothes. He changed his mind, fell into bed and took a nap, as obviously he was in no shape to speak to anyone.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Deanna started tearing off bells in the lift -- she was tired of them, beyond tired of them, always got sick of them during the Moon Festival. Her ears were always ringing well before the end of the dancing, and they were still ringing but not as badly. She ran into their quarters, dropped the double handful of bells on the floor as she went in the bedroom, and found Jean-Luc lying naked on the bed. Curled up on his side and snoring lightly.

She touched his head, his shoulder, shook him a little. "Jean-Luc. Jean!"

"What?" he mumbled. She stood back as he sat up slowly. He looked tired, groggy, not quite awake. She dropped to one knee and put her hands on his legs, looking up at his face.

"Are you all right? Look at me!"

He focused a little more, opening his eyes. "Yes. I'm just tired."

"More than tired. I tried to call you and you didn't answer."

That stirred him more, and he rallied to sit up and try to shake off the lethargy. "I think I am not going to that Festival."

"I concur. Can you walk? I'll get you a glass of water."

After some coaching and encouraging, he seemed to recover sufficiently to talk coherently. She put on her uniform and got a late lunch for them. He got dressed as well and sat up at the table with her to eat, alleviating her concerns.

"You took off all the bells," he said, smiling at last. "That was an amazing spectacle -- all those people wearing bells. Deafening, when they started to dance."

"M'Ret recorded the dancing. After they all went back to quarters, I played the recording." She didn't mention the lengthy debriefing, where she answered all the questions from Arja, Tet, Toreth and Tarel. She didn't think he would want to know how curious they were about him. "It was... overwhelming. I haven't danced like that in some years, so I wasn't so proficient as the holograms, but we made up for it with sheer abandon and joy of movement. You have a lot of potential if you want a career in dancing."

He dropped his sandwich on the plate and stared at her, with his classic expression of disdain. 

She smiled, having succeeded in teasing. "I don't care to, either. But it's nice to have options."

Something occurred to him then, and he sat up a little straighter. "Computer, time." 

"The time is thirteen hundred hours twelve minutes."

"Tessora is due any time now," he explained, picking up the sandwich again. "I want to talk to you about the bond, but we have no time. She wants the information you downloaded."

They focused on eating, and she tied back her hair -- as she came out of the bedroom, the bridge called him, and so they went together to meet the admiral. She had the isolinear module in hand as they went. The ensign in transporter room one smiled at her; she nodded, acknowledging one of her many clients, and turned as the admiral materialized in front of them.

"Hello," Tessora said, stepping down without needing an invitation. She smiled and held out a hand to Jean-Luc to shake his. "Captain. Commander, how are you? I understand you've been recovering."

"I'm doing well, thank you," Deanna said, shaking the offered hand. She held up the module. "Here is the information."

"Good, thank you," she exclaimed. Taking it from Deanna, she tucked the module in a pocket. "May we adjourn to your ready room? I'd like to meet our guests as well before I leave so we should move it along."

"Of course," Jean-Luc said. "This way."

Tessora walked with them toward the lift. She was about the same height as Deanna, and of Asian descent; she kept her hair short and wore very little makeup. There was none of the guardedness or wariness that Felton, whoever she really was, had had. 

"Admiral, may I ask you a question?" Deanna said as they entered the turbolift. 

"Of course." Tessora was surprised at her tentativeness. They had spoken via subspace a number of times thus far, since Deanna had been selected for the mission, and met briefly after the first one. 

"How do you feel about Section 31?"

It put a tension in the lift that she felt immediately -- Jean-Luc was staring at her over Tessora's head as if she'd just taken off her clothes again, and Tessora had frozen for a span of a breath, and slowly recovered her composure. 

"You certainly must be asking for my personal thoughts on the matter, as I am sure you are familiar with the official stance," the admiral said, squaring her shoulders and putting her hands behind her back. "The idea of a group of vigilantes at large in the Federation bothers me, Commander. As does the notion that officers feel that the end justifies bending the regulations or ignoring the principles we swore to uphold -- but it's not been easy and the Federation was nearly overwhelmed, which frightened a great many at Command. Are you about to tell me something that I do not wish to hear?"

There was, Deanna sensed, more to the admiral than was apparent; she had cleverly told the truth, there was no odd blank or dark space to sense, but she knew more than her statement made apparent. Which was reasonable considering she was addressing a commander and a captain. Deanna thought through several responses and opted to answer with another question. "Do you trust Captain Glendenning?"

That led to a turn of the admiral's head and a long, serious stare. Deanna returned the look. The lift opened, and they filed out, Jean-Luc leading the way into the ready room without a glance at anyone on the bridge. Deanna followed the admiral. 

After they were seated in the corner on the couch and chair, with the admiral presiding from the comfortable easy chair facing them, Tessora finally responded -- with another question. Of course. She obviously knew of his other affiliation. "Did Captain Glendenning do anything that gave you a reason to question his loyalty?"

"No," Deanna said. Which was true. So far as she knew, nothing out of bounds had taken place -- Tom himself had said that he'd come to help them on his own but in itself that wasn't a crime; he could have been given a long leave and done it on his own time. It was, so far as she knew, not actually illegal to visit the Romulan Empire. Just a really stupid thing to do, as tourists were not welcome there.

Tessora seemed to take a journey inward for a moment, thinking, and then she relaxed slightly. "I'll be honest here. I know what you seem to be suggesting is true. But I think you also understand that not everyone who has been co-opted by  _them_ has committed a crime, nor can we simply label anyone as unredeemable based upon their association with them."

"I'm not suggesting anything, Admiral. I merely wanted to ascertain where you stand before we speak any further," Deanna said. "Tom Glendenning was not a problem. But I know what he is, and I have met others like him. I don't like that such an organization exists, either."

Jean-Luc had been angry, but now moved into wary and anxious. Probably wondering who else she had met and identified as Section 31. Tessora glanced at him, noted the stern expression, and turned back to Deanna. "Being in charge of Intelligence, you understand my position, I hope. Now. I would like to hear what happened on your mission, from the time you entered the Empire."

While they provided the summary, the admiral listened; she looked down at the isolinear module in her hand, turning it over in her fingers, and Deanna stopped in mid-sentence in her accounting of meeting with Tyreen, as she sensed the sudden shock. She waited, and the admiral looked up at her.

"This is not the module that Glendenning took to you, to replace the one with the older programming," she said, proving that she knew about Tom's effort to help them. That resolved without another question from them one of the issues they'd had. Starfleet Intelligence, not Section 31, had tried to help them.

"No. I would have gotten to that -- he met with us on Romulus following my infiltration of the Imperial Palace, and informed us of the changes in the security codes. The new module was brought to us by a Romulan agent. We feared that the agent had somehow gotten the password out of Tom."

Tessora blinked. "I see. Continue."

Deanna resumed the story, and detailed the steps taken after the false Koval left the house -- the arrangements Narviat had made, the calls, the planning. The implementation the following day. Crawling through the ductwork and downloading the information, and running for her life to find Tom walking the street. Sensing him, and walking with him. The beamout from Tyreen's home after nearly being apprehended by the Imperial Guard. The shuttle ride, the topics they had talked about, finding out Telum was a spy -- she provided the details she hadn't given to Felton. 

At the end of the story, with the rendezvous with Captain Shelby, she paused. Jean-Luc picked it up from there. Deanna went to get tea for all of them, and made three cups of Earl Grey. He too was more descriptive, as she had been. Following her sense of things.

The admiral sat with her tea in her hands, gazing down at the floor, after the conclusion of the long description of the mission. They waited for her to process and respond, sipping their own tea. Jean-Luc had settled into a serious, contemplative state. He was still tired but doing better than he'd been, and no longer irritated with her.

"Commander," Tessora said at last, her dark brown eyes coming up to meet hers. "Do you trust the Romulans who are currently aboard this vessel?"

Deanna exchanged a look with Jean-Luc as if seeking feedback. He was waiting with a patient forbearance for her to explain.

"I wish that was a question with a simple answer. The reality is, Admiral, that people can and do change their minds. People in the Empire can be our friends, and people in Section 31 can be our friends. Or they can be our enemies. M'Ret and Tyreen have no ulterior motives that I have sensed. The two who were servants of the Aimne are frightened and struggling but not harboring intent or malice, likely wish only to resettle with Tarel and Narviat. Tarel and her sister Toreth do not appear to be hiding anything and Toreth has doubts but has been as open and forthcoming as I never would have expected her to be, but she was a soldier, a commander of a warbird, and she detests what's happen in the Empire. She dislikes the Tal Shiar and artifice disgusts her. Narviat was Tal Shiar -- he was a hardened and cruel man, who returned from a Dominion labor camp a broken man, and with injuries beyond what medicine in the Empire could address. He may be sincere in his conversations with us about Betazed, or Earth, or the Empire, but I would not trust until he has lived on a Federation world for sufficient time that he has demonstrated that he has no malice. He has been told he could live anywhere in the Federation, but all discussion thus far has been about Betazed, and I have been providing a wealth of information about the culture and the openness of Betazoids, our ability to sense emotions and detect truth, yet he has not shown any sign of being concerned about living there."

Tessora nodded in appreciation of this. She understood, because it had been discussed previously, that Tessora's predecessor Admiral G'Terril had made the arrangements with The Fourth House and there were already people in place to monitor the asylum seekers. M'Ret had been an exemplary citizen. "Do you trust Captain Glendenning?"

Deanna smiled, thinking about all that had transpired so far, and the last conversation she'd had with Tom. "Until he proves that I can't."

Tessora wrinkled her forehead in a moment of bemusement, then smiled again. "It must be interesting to be able to sense the nuances of emotion. Do you have anyone that you would trust without hesitation, without thinking about it or issuing disclaimers about changes of heart?"

Her smile broadened. "I have one person."

Tessora laughed, sitting back in her chair. "One? Only one?"

"If we are speaking in absolutes, yes. I love my mother, but there are still things I couldn't tell her."

Tessora raised an eyebrow as she looked sidelong at Jean-Luc, sitting to her left on the couch. "On a personal note -- is it true, what I hear, that you and the commander are ...." She already knew, but Deanna had observed that humans would ask questions rather than be accused of assuming.

"Yes," Jean-Luc said. There was no sign of the slight lurch of anxiety that interaction caused him. He now anticipated being lectured about their relationship by admirals.

"A brave man," Tessora said. She had a sly little grin that said she was actually teasing him.

Deanna kept up the passive, pleasant little smile, ignoring the emotions that suggested that the admiral had recently had some sort of breakup. A common set of feelings for a human to have -- many counseling sessions had taught her that particular recipe over the years. 

Jean-Luc gave the admiral a subdued smile. "On the other hand, I have no reason to ask you any pressing questions about Section 31."

Tessora's reaction to that was subtle. She kept smiling, glanced down at the module, and then turned to Deanna again, eyes open and no sign of discomfort. "I would like to meet our asylum seekers now, Commander." 

"I can have them brought to the observation lounge -- would you like to meet with them as a group or individually?" Jean-Luc asked, rising from the couch.

"As a group would be fine -- thank you."

Deanna went along, and had deLio page Narviat -- meeting with the group of Romulans was the admiral's due diligence, as she introduced herself around, spoke briefly with each of them including M'Ret who had apparently met her before. It was a cursory sort of contact, Tessora was pleasant and sincere. None of their guests were hiding anything nor did the admiral delve too deeply. 

Later, as she entered their quarters, Deanna reached up and pulled the clip from her hair, shaking it free, sighing. "Computer, give me a dish of chocolate ice cream with hot fudge."

She was on the couch with her legs curled up beneath her, half done with her ice cream, when Jean-Luc returned from seeing the admiral to the transporter room. He sat down on the end of the couch and stared at nothing for a few minutes, deep in thought. She kept eating, taking her time, running the spoon around the edge of the bowel to collect fudge before taking up another bite of ice cream. 

"Is Tessora trustworthy?" he asked after a lengthy silence.

Deanna paused to look at him, her spoon hovering above the bowel. He waited patiently.

"She's Starfleet and she's honest in her dislike of Section 31."

"But -- how many of us have done things, followed orders, and disliked being expected to do it," he said.

She put another heaping spoon of ice cream in her mouth and savored the melting chocolate sweetness in her mouth, swallowed. "Are we doing anything tonight?"

"No. Our guests are in their quarters, so far as I know completing forms to apply for citizenship. Do you have any preference in what we do?"

"I prefer something soothing, and restful."

"Mm. Dinner, and some music while we read?"

"I have four chapters left in my book, I think an early bedtime would be nice."

 


	19. Chapter 19

Pink clouds.

Jean-Luc turned from the view through the massive window, to see what was going on. The large round black table had been covered with the midday meal, just an hour ago; now it bore only the after meal drinks, for the cheerful group of Romulans and Betazoids. Outside, pink fluffy clouds floated in a pale blue sky, inside the ceiling was covered with stained glass -- the sunlight turned the red, blue and green glass iridescent. Worlds like Betazed typically became pleasure planets.

He knew, however, that Betazed was not focused on tourism; there were things written about Betazed, and plenty that was not written. The Fourth House had a few paragraphs in the _Enterprise_ computer, but Redal had showed them an entire library of paper books detailing Betazoid history. She maintained it was all tediously detailed, but he suspected even a skim through would be educational and of interest -- if only any of it were in Standard.

Once again, he was superfluous. On Romulus he had been mostly so, and now, Deanna was again out in front making arrangements and decisions on the behalf of their small group of refugees from the Empire. She could speak Betazoid, and he knew perhaps three words; M'Ret had been on the planet for nearly a decade and he still struggled with it, said there was some component of it that he couldn't manage. Some of the people they were dealing with didn't know any other language, which Jean-Luc found surprising; Betazed was one of the central worlds in the Federation. They had arrived four hours ago, and Deanna had led them on a journey from the public transporter in Novanii. After arriving and meeting Redal, they had been on a tour of the Fourth House, the refugees had been given rooms -- much to his surprise, as it was obviously being maintained as a museum, and Redal's commentary had informed them there were tours three days a week -- and now they were meeting to discuss the details of their new lives on Betazed.

He returned to the table and sat down in his chair, rejoining the group. Deanna touched his thigh; she was listening to Redal explain the positions she had available for those of them who wanted to work. She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Let's go for a walk."

When they stood up, hardly anyone looked at them. Narviat and the others were raptly focused on Redal's description of a position that would be assisting in the recovery effort. Toreth's eyes followed them as they stepped away from the table. She smiled, finally without the hint of hesitance or suspicion.

Outside the room, in the cavernous hallway, their footfalls echoed. There were pedestals at regular intervals with statues on them. Redal had already given everyone a tour of the Fourth House, so he knew these were previous Daughters of the House.

"It seems fitting that all the things you will be doing in Starfleet will go down in history, in the Fifth House," he said, as they reached one of the junctions. More hallways split to the right and left. The Fourth House made the House of Aimne look small.

"I'm not concerned about that. I think they will do well here." They reached a door; like all the other doors, it was square, at least ten feet wide, and opened via a handle that one twisted to activate some internal mechanism that unlatched the bolts at the top and bottom corners.

"They built the Houses to be secure, I notice," he commented as he watched her turn the handle.

"It's fortunate that they were built in more remote areas, away from the towns," Deanna said. The door swung freely and noiselessly open, and they stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the lush grounds.

"I wish we had more time than we do. You could show me around. I'd like to see the Fifth House."

She gave him a sober look and turned right, heading down the stairs. At the bottom they stepped off the deck and wandered down the path toward the fountain -- rearing animals with water jetting from their mouths towered over the round stone basin, surrounded by flower beds, and the path circled it.

"Unless you don't want to."

"I'm sorry, that isn't.... I'm worried," she said.

He caught her hand, drew her to a halt between the patches of red and yellow flowers. "Is there anything I can do?"

She faced him, and he didn't like her frown, or the pinch between her brows. "Redal told me, when I spoke to her via subspace before we arrived, that the council is discussing what Betazed should do to protect itself."

That was hardly surprising, given the impact that the Dominion invasion had on them. Jean-Luc looked at the pastoral landscape and wondered what Betazed would look like, if paranoia ran riot.

"Sometimes things change that change the trajectory of society," he said, thinking about the Bell Riots.

"But this is the wrong change. We have _never_ needed a battle fleet. And if we had one it would not have made much difference, when the Dominion came. The numbers make it clear -- in the end it wasn't fleets or phasers that stopped the war. And I can't tell them what they need to know to understand any of it because none of them has clearance," she said, the anger showing in her face. "I'm also worried that there is something big coming."

"What do you mean?"

"I was thinking about all of this, what Tom said, what the fake Felton said, and the general sense of things in Starfleet. For a while we were building Borg based defenses, and those were put into service against the Dominion. Now we don't hear about the Borg. Neither have we experienced Borg incursions, and the Empire is under a great deal of stress," she said.

"You appear to know more about the Empire than I, at this point. And I have wondered as well what is coming next. There's nothing specific that feeds my anticipation of something dire, but I feel it nonetheless."

'Yes. But the more I think about it the more unsettled I become -- why have the Borg stopped encroaching on the Federation? Why haven't we heard about fending them off? Elizabeth's last mission went looking for them. If they stopped attacking that suggests their attention is elsewhere. If there is a force big enough to distract the Borg -- is it only a matter of time before they show up to challenge the Federation?"

Jean-Luc watched a bird come down to hover briefly around a large blossom, then fly away. There seemed to be a number of them flying around. "It's certainly possible there are civilizations or alliances in the galaxy that are even more powerful than the Dominion. But that's why diplomacy is so important."

She went silent, looking away at the fountain, and he wondered how much she knew that she was not saying. It had been obvious that there were things she wasn't telling him, but he understood that there would be.

"Are there things you cannot tell me that are feeding your fears?"

Deanna turned away and put her hands on her hips. One of the birds hovered over her head briefly and buzzed off to one of the flowering shrubs. The sweet scent of flowers was overpowering.

He came up beside her and stood waiting for her to look at him, talk to him, perhaps explain why she radiated anger. It was similar to what had happened in the holodeck. Only instead of feeling pulled to her and into the bond, he felt her emotions vibrating between them in the air, almost palpable.

"After the Academy, who would you say had the most influence over you in your early career?" she asked unexpectedly.

"Ivan Gruzinov and Robert DeSoto. We were on the _Antares_ together."

She nodded. He thought he knew what she was doing; the suggestion she'd made yesterday wasn't something she was going to drop.

"I've been thinking about what you said about the cadets." He started to walk again, and she joined him in strolling around the fountain. "I think you are correct. I spoke with the commandant at the Academy -- we will be taking on more cadets shortly, I informed him that he should double it, send us twenty-four instead of twelve. You will work with Mr. Data in developing a comprehensive program to ensure that they are trained to a higher standard. If in the implementation of your program you see fit to have them meet with me, so be it."

He didn't expect her frown. She sighed -- he saw more than heard, the splashing of the water was loud enough that it drowned out softer sounds -- and reached out. He took her hand, and they walked away from the fountain and the house.

"I don't want you to feel obligated to do as I ask," she said. "I hoped you would find it worthwhile on its own merit."

"You aren't coercing me," he said. "I happen to think that anyone who spends their first six months of ship duty on the _Enterprise_ will have the advantage of working with the finest crew in the fleet. I doubt that ten minutes in my presence will make much difference."

She gave him the now-familiar look of fond long-suffering. "If your presence is so inconsequential why are you even aboard?"

"Window dressing. Clearly. Just there to look good and take credit."

She started to laugh at him, precisely what he wanted, and he appreciated that she obliged. "I agree that you look good. I'm also partial to some of the tactile and auditory stimulation that you provide me."

That she was starting to tease him again was a relief -- finally, the end of the tension of the mission. "The feeling is mutual, cygne."

They were on the way back up to the house, his arm around her and harmony restored, when Redal came down the stairs and walked out to meet them. She was wearing the latest fashion of Betazed -- a brilliant green wrap. Deanna's cousin was taller, willowy and not at all athletic. She smiled warmly at them. "We concluded our meeting, and they are settling into their rooms. We should have homes for them within the month. Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"We'll be saying our farewells and leaving shortly, unfortunately. Orders came in before we arrived -- we're supposed to be somewhere in two days," Deanna said. "We'll have to travel at high warp to meet that deadline. But thank you for the invitation. What do you think of them?"

Redal's smile didn't waver. "They will do well, I believe. Narviat informed me that there were misgivings and doubts, for a while, but now that they are here and see that M'Ret and Tyreen's home is so comfortable and that they will not be restricted in movement around the town, they seem settled in their choice." The happy black-on-black eyes flitted back and forth between them. "How wonderful for you to have hajira -- have you told your mother?"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it, because I want to tell her in person," Deanna said.

"It's too bad she's on Risa. She will be so happy for you," Redal said, so sweetly and sincerely. "Deanna, have you thought about taking the position on the council? It would be wonderful to work with you, and you would be so much the better choice -- they're considering asking Yona, you know what will happen if he has any influence in our government."

"I really feel that I'm needed in Starfleet. I'm sure someone will step up to save you all from Yona," Deanna said.

Redal turned to walk with them back to the house. "I hope you are right. Captain, will you be joining us for the Festival of Alipha?"

"So much depends on our assignments and whether we can take the time off," Deanna said.

Once inside, they turned down the hall toward the rooms. Redal didn't go with them. "I will be in my office. Stop in before you leave."

"We will," Jean-Luc said. They walked down the tile floor, the heels of their standard issue boots clapping quietly. The first door they came to was answered by Narviat, and when he invited them in, they found the entire group seated in the chairs around the room.

"I'm sorry to say we have to leave," Jean-Luc said, stopping and holding up a hand to fend off Narviat's offer of a chair. "We wanted to stop in and say farewell -- we intend to be in touch, to see how things go for you here, but I'm certain you are in good hands."

"Thank you for all you have done for us," Tarel said with feeling. "We appreciate your efforts on our behalf. I hope that the admiral did not cause you any difficulties."

"Not at all," Deanna said. "It was a pleasure to get to know you -- I look forward to visiting, when we come back to Betazed. I want to hear about it if you attend a festival."

Toreth burst out laughing. "Oh, no, thank you. I'll leave that to Tarel and Narviat."

"I may have to stretch a little first," Narviat said, raising his arms to mime a shoulder stretch.

Jean-Luc half-turned, and Deanna noticed the hint -- she went and embraced Tarel, then Narviat, shook the hand of Arja and then Tet. Toreth stood up as she approached and went so far as to exchange a firm handshake with her, bringing her other hand up to grip Deanna's wrist.

"I am glad to know you for who you are, and not who I believed you to be," Toreth said.

"Perhaps we will have the opportunity to work together someday," Deanna said.

As they left the room, closing the door behind them, Jean-Luc put his arm over Deanna's shoulders again. They walked slowly toward the front of the house, where Redal's office was located. "I want to add my compliments to those of the admiral -- you did very well, in the covert part of the mission but more so with the diplomatic portion of the endeavor. No one would expect such an outcome. I'm proud of you, Commander."

She smiled, didn't seem able to look at him, and after a few more steps finally said, "Thank you, Captain." Her arm came up around his waist and they strolled together through the Fourth House of Betazed.

"Onward and upward, Cygne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course there has to be a followup - some editing and rearranging of existing stories first tho.


End file.
